To Kill A Mockingjay
by Eternal.Defiance
Summary: In an unusual twist of fate, Belarus is entered into the Hunger Games, and discovers that she has lost her immortality and invulnerability. As she evolves into a being unique from the country she represents, the citizens of Panem prepare for a bloody revolution and the nations left behind discover a different side to someone they always seemed to ridicule, fear and ignore.
1. The Woman In Red

**The Conference**

I stared numbly at the world around me. We were at yet another pointless world meeting, where as usual, everyone was arguing about pointless things.

I turned to my brother, who was sitting beside me, the sickly sweet smile which usually adorned his face dripping with venomous sugar. I placed a gloved hand over his, and squeezed it.

His amethyst gaze wandered from the heated debate, or rather, miniature war, that France and England were having. It looked me over for a moment, as if seeing if I were of use to him. A flicker of something- a mixture of hate, anger, and disgust, that I had seen many times before- appeared momentarily in his eyes, before they widened and he gave me that disgusting fake smile.

" Belarus." Russia acknowledged my presence in that childish voice that scared so many of the nations for some reason, though I cannot fathom why.

He spoke without fear, and looked me in the eye without trembling. Since the union between Belarus and Russia had happened a while back, 1996, he had no need to fear me, we already lived in the same house, and my threats to become one with him had diminished, though I still showed my false intentions, artfully mastered over the years, whenever he got out of line with the other nations. Though I had no fear of him, or rather what he would do to me (I know it's already happening), they did. And he exploited it. Which I decided one day, to take advantage of.

He still does not understand that as long as I am here, he cannot hurt them, which I guess is all the better, it's buying me time. He still thought I had an obsession with him, which I suppose was the truth. But it was not so much becoming one with him, it had already practically happened. It was more of keeping an eye on him and his plans. As long as I chase him around in the manner he used to follow Lithuania around with, he doesn't have time to attack others, or plan for it.

The door opened, and everyone, miraculously, fell quiet. All the nations, even the newly recognized South Sudan, and the unofficial little tag-along who was arguing with England, with Finland and Sweden standing over the island nation for a little extra intimidation, were in attendance, and our bosses were not permitted to enter the conferences reserved only for nations.

So who the hell was it?

A woman entered the room, flanked by around fifteen armed men, in strange uniforms, sort of like black lightweight armor. Each man carried a gun, much more advanced then the ones I had seen, which was saying something, after all, I lived with Russia. And each black breastplate was adorned with an emblem. A golden eagle, holding three arrows in either claw, framed by a circle of the same gilded color. It reminded me of a coat of arms, or an official seal, not one I had seen before, but it reminded me of America's.

The woman had short cherry red hair, styled in a bob cut around her chin, with large golden catlike eyes that looked at everyone critically. She was in a suit that matched her hair, and had an air of authority around her, like if you made one bad move, she could blow you to oblivion. Sort of like how Russia's aura felt. When it was visible, you knew you were screwed.

She walked calmly to the center of the room, her heels clicking softly on the tile floor. The woman scrutinized everyone, her cat eyes narrowed to golden slits.

Her lips curved downwards into a subtle frown as she surveyed most of the nations, who were all silent, trying to figure out who she was. Odd, they would usually be talking among themselves about who they though the woman was, then start arguing and... Well, you all probably know what happens from there. Then her expression straightened out into a small, cunning smile as her eyes fell on my brother.

The woman walked briskly over to us, and my sapphire eyes narrowed. There was something up with this woman, whoever she was. Something that reminded me of a snake. Dangerous, but so fascinating you can't help but want to get closer and learn about her.

She stepped forwards, and asked my brother in an dangerously calm voice, "May I speak to you in private?" Her words came out in an American accent, but it seemed a bit too harsh to be considered one fully, making her question sound like a command.

My brother nodded, and removed his gloved hand from mine. He rose from his chair, and walked out into the hall where the woman had gestured to. The large oaken double doors closed behind them, and the men with the guns lined up on the outskirts of the room and fell silent.

Immediately everyone was in a buzz. All previous arguments forgotten, they were debating over who she was.

She was definitely powerful, they could feel it radiating from her crimson-clad being. She seemed like either a leader, or perhaps even a nation, judging by the armed men and the way she seemed to silence everyone.

But if she were a nation, we would have heard of her by now, and if she were some sort of leader of a country... We'd have learned of it by now, and a personification would definitely have surfaced.

The door creaked open, and that strange silence instinctively grabbed hold of the nations, who froze in place, some with their mouths still hanging open in the middle of a statement.

I found it amusing when a fly buzzed into America's particularly large one.

I found it even more amusing when he didn't notice.

The woman and Russia returned, Russia looked oddly pleased. Then as he saw everyone turn to watch him his expression changed abruptly, to one of fear. But this fear seemed... different somehow. Like it wasn't really there.

She turned to the guards, who looked expressionless at her.

"We have our Tribute." She said in the harsh, somewhat metallic tone of voice. "Ivan Braginski."

The strange woman turned to the gathering of nations, who were trying to process the information she had just spoken of. Tribute? For what? And why his human name?

"Do I have a Volunteer?" She asked, surveying them critically with her amber cat eyes, the pupils tiny slits of black. Seeing our clueless expressions, the woman elaborated. "To take his place as our Tribute?"

Russia looked terrified.

I knew immediately that what he was being tributed to was very bad. To make even Russia terrified like that, you had to either be me, Mongolia, or possibly General Winter never allowing the sun to shine again.

I took a deep breath. I knew that whatever he was being taken to would be very very dangerous. Maybe even more so then World War II had been for me. And I didn't love my brother the way everyone thought I did.

But still...

He was my brother. He had been since the beginning of time. I knew everything about him, how much he adored sunflowers and respected General Winter. How many bottles of vodka he inhaled each night, and how much it took to get him drunk. And particularly how destructive he could get if he was allowed to stay drunk, unsupervised by Ukraine and myself, the only nations who could safely care for him in his... fragile state. How much he was torn apart inside during the Russian Revolution, when he cradled the little Romanov girls' dead bodies in his arms. How lonely he was after the Soviet Union dissolved, and how happy he was when I returned to him. How he learned to fear my attempts to fully marry him, though I have ceased my requests and my heart is no longer in them. How he doesn't realize that I do not love him in the way I did as a child, when I was weak, and scared, when he, and only he was there for me, how Russia saved me in the aftermath of World War II, and nursed me to my current state, and obeyed my pleas to keep his distance when Chernobyl ravaged my country. How he planned to annex me fully someday.

And yet... Though I'm not a 'psycho incest bitch'...

I still loved him.

I stood up from my chair, forced my face into a deadpan, devoid of any emotion, and spoke firmly. "I will. I will 'volunteer' to go in my brother's place."

"What a surprise..." Someone, probably America, mumbled as many judging eye rolls and glares appeared on the other nations' faces, and a few smirks. They probably thought I was still that insane girl who was obsessed with their brother.

Well, they were right about my insanity. Not quite about my obsession.

But I didn't care. Why should I? They keep their distance, and know to fear me, which is all I need. I need to be alone in order to keep Russia from advancing. I also require them to keep believing that I am insane, so they don't invade me again.

The scars still open sometimes.

I'd think I have more then Lithuania after what I've gone through, but no one has ever ventured close enough to see them. There was a reason why I always wore the same style of dress, with the same long sleeves.

What they don't know won't hurt them.

What I do hurts me.

"Excellent..." Murmured the cat-eyed woman, her amber eyes seeming to enter my body and pick out what she liked and disliked about me. "Yes, you will do. Natalya Arlovskaya, correct?"

"_Dy_," I responded with the same ice-cold tone of voice. "Most know me as Belarus."

"That does not matter." The red-clad woman narrowed her eyes for the umpteenth time, as if she was sick of the nations. "You will be known as Natalya Arlovskaya where we will be going."

"And where exactly is it that you are so eager to take me?" I countered coldly.

The red woman smiled, much like my brother did, one dripping with honey, and poison if you knew where to look for it. "The Capitol, of course. We need to get you ready."

"For what?" I inquired in my monotone. You could cut the tension in the air with one of my knives.

"The Hunger Games."


	2. Trapped

Well, hello everybody. Sorry I didn't upload anything in the past few days, I've had a huge mound of homework, a job that took up half the day on Saturday, and a movie on Sunday. But no problem, I've got the second chapter up now.

** DISCLAIMER: You know what I'm gonna say...**

** Read, review, do what you will.**

** Nations POV**

The nations just stood there for a while, not sure of what to do. Miraculously, they were all still quiet. Which was really something. What was most disturbing about the ordeal:

England and France weren't at each others throats.

Now something was really wrong.

At some point, Greece woke up, and decided to leave, after all, Turkey wasn't 'threatening' Japan or himself, and he decided he was missing his cats. The sleepy nation dragged himself out of his chair, and shuffled over to the door. He tried it to find it was locked.

How strange.

He went over to a window, after all, spending much of his time with cats has given him some degree of advantage with balancing more then the average nation, so it wouldn't really faze him that there was a hundred story drop to the ground.

There were grooves in the building's outer walls to help him on his descent. And besides, if he did fall, it wasn't like he'd die, or even get hurt. His stock market would just plummet until he picked himself up again.

He pulled at the window, and discovered, upon closer inspection, that it was enforced by thin, yet powerful, metal bars that were nearly invisible to those on the inside, hidden behind the lattice of the window frame.

Odd, it wasn't there before.

The other nations in attendance eventually seemed to notice this as well, and begun trying other doors and windows, with similar results.

Estonia tried his laptop, to email someone on the outside to open the door, but he saw a buzzing, empty screen. Other nations attempted texting or calling someone, but were met with similar results.

They were trapped.

And then, a more pressing urge surfaced.

"Ve~. Germany! I need to go to the bathroom!"

"Are you fucking kidding me!" This was followed by a string of curse words far too inappropriate to list here, mostly about how Italy should have gone before he entered the conference room, ("But I did!") and most of the rant (With cuss words that crossed the language barrier from English to Italian to Spanish, which made the older nation hug the Italian, which pissed him off even more.) was mostly about the person he addressed to. You can probably imply that Romano was the mad ranter.

Just then, the large flat screen television on the end of the conference room buzzed to life.

It silenced the nations once more.

Seriously? This must be bad.

The same emblem, of the gold eagle with the three arrows in either claw, with the circle around it, was shown on a black background. What sounded like the end of a song, an anthem perhaps, was playing it's final notes, as the emblem faded. All the nations stepped forward to get better views of the strange television program. Sealand found the remote (Under England's foot, which was an added bonus, he tripped the jerk nation while getting it out) and begun playing with it, but found he simply couldn't mess with the television, no volume or channels, not even being able to turn it off. Weird.

It showed some sort of procession, streets framed by black velvet ropes, with armored men similar to those they had seen a little earlier, holding back a crowd of flamboyantly dressed people. Some were different colors, and one apparently had snakes for hair.

They could make America's Lady Gaga look rather plain and unremarkable, which everyone found astonishing.

All of a sudden, everyone broke out into cheers, throwing things like confetti, money and flowers into the street. It appeared that a string of chariots, fourteen in all, were entering the street the camera was anchored to.

First to come was a magnificent, jewel encrusted chariot, drawn by white horses sprayed over with fine gold and silver dust that left glittery hoofprints on the street. A boy, around eighteen years of age, and a girl, who seemed to be seventeen, were waving in it. The boy and girl shared similar physical traits, both being powerful and well fed, with long and luxurious light brown hair with bronze and gold streaks that shone in the sunlight, the boy's eyes a chocolate brown, the girl's a deep amber not unlike the shade of the woman in red who had just been there. They were wearing what appeared to be skin tight long sleeved leotards, a shimmery color matching that of the horses, with ethereal silvery-gold skirts (Yes, even on the guy) which flowed with the slight breeze, and looked as if the cloth was liquid, flowing out behind them. They were waving, and smiling with dazzling white teeth, and looked rather pleased with themselves.

The second chariot to come was drawn by a pair of rime-gray horses, seemingly carved from stone. The boy and girl in them, a twelve year old girl and fifteen year old boy, each with black hair and dark eyes, were painted like nude stone sculptures.

More passed, with kids that looked as if they were wearing lightning, ones who were donned in skimpy net outfits (Which France approved of), a few boring ones, then kids dressed like they were trees, with garments of bark. Several more generic looking ones, and a strange one with kids who dressed like cows.

Finally, a pair of kids that were very small, the girl, who was petite as Lichtenstein, thirteen, the boy fourteen, each with dark hair and bright green eyes, looking similar enough in build and physical appearance to be siblings. They each donned a flowing coal-black tunic and dress, with streaks of bright orange, gold and red that became bolder and flickered throughout the outfits whenever the fabric shifted. They were holding hands, and the girl looked terrified, the boy whispering something in her ear.

A small twelve year old girl, alone in a chariot followed, rather ordinary looking, but alone and perhaps as tall as Sealand.

Finally, a chariot drawn by two dapple gray horses materialized. By now, the nations were confused to what they were watching, and were even more so when they saw who was in it. It was no other then Belarus, alone in a chariot like the others, but... different somehow. She looked around the age of sixteen, rather then the nineteen she appeared in human years, and was also wearing a strange gown. She donned a flowing silvery white dress (To France's disappointment, it wasn't skimpy like several of the past outfits), in a shade identical to her long, silky hair that billowed and swirled around behind her, like a wild whirlwind of ice and snow. But there was a strange expression on her face that ruined the beautiful look the female nation had.

It was a strange mixture between grief, confusion, and horror, a sharp contrast to the smiles (some looked stiff and forced however), that the other teenagers had shown. Her dark sapphire eyes were haunted.

Just then, she looked up from her hands, tightly clasped on the edge of the chariot, into the cameras, and her expression morphed into the deadpan they were so used to seeing, devoid of any emotion or feeling. She wasn't smiling and waving, like all the other kids in the chariots, not making an effort to win over the crowd. But every now and then, her eyes would flicker back to that state.

There was also something different about how Belarus held herself, there was this lack of the powerful feel nations had. The strength of their armies, the power of the country embodied in a single individual. It was absent in her. To the other nations, she felt... human.

Several hours passed, and the television screen was the buzzing blur identical to Estonia's laptop screen.

Italy's bladder issues had been resolved, thank god, no one knew how long until someone (Probably Romano) snapped and lunged at him. But there was the issue of how he resolved his... problem. All the doors were locked, and any amount of persuasion (namely Denmark's ax) could not get them open.

On a completely unrelated note: no one dared drink from Russia's bottle of suspicious colored 'vodka'. Poland had at some point, decided to dump the mysterious contents down on the street below, but he was met with a violent disagreement to that idea. Innocent civilians need not be harmed by a sewage leak in Northern Italy, Poland, or possibly Russia, depending on how the heck these things work with the nations.

France wasn't arguing with England for some reason, probably imagining the skimpy girls and guys, judging by the strange expression on his face as he stared off into space.

Then the television turned on again.

Everyone bounded over to it, overturning several tables in the process, sitting down in front of the TV, pulling over chairs, or just lying on top of the tables that were still intact.

It showed the familiar emblem, and a strange song, which they attributed to as an anthem of some sort, played. Finally, when the song concluded, the emblem faded from sight, and fourteen names were listed, alongside a number, with a picture of a person next to it, arranged in a grid-like pattern. The nations scanned through the long list, until coming upon the one next to the word 'Capitol', at the very bottom. Natalya Arlovskya.

Belarus.

There was a picture as they had seen her a few hours previous, with her hair wild and free, no hair ribbon in it for some reason, and the deadpan expression, the one they had seen before, but briefly, forgotten.

One by one, names were called out, and they were given a score out of twelve. Ones from the same chariots they had seen earlier, with less disgusting outfits from the strange parade, who were stronger, more well fed and generally more attractive, averaged in the eight-to-ten range, most everyone else getting threes, fives, and sixes. One boy got a seven, and the small girl alone in the chariot who was as tall as Sealand got a two. Finally, Belarus appeared. Everyone stared, with various guesses to what the heck was going on running through their head. France of course had rather... interesting... ideas on what to make of the situation.

Suddenly, a twelve materialized on the screen. Not a surprise, given who she was and what she was capable of, but it was still... odd somehow. Belarus lacked the strength and durability the nations had, they all knew that instinctively watching her. Yet she still had the highest of all the scores.

And just like that, the screen buzzed out.

Five minutes passed with everyone staring at the screen, wondering what the hell was going on, like they had been for quite a while.

Then someone piped up, "What exactly is this?"

Everyone forgot their silence and begun debating (arguing) over what they were seeing. At some point, half the nations of the world were in a fist fight (Don't ask how, but it's the _nations_... Do they really need a reason?), and Germany begun to write on the blackboard that was forgotten in the back of the room, opposite to the plasma-screen TV. He detailed the things everyone had noticed that would be somewhat useful to what they were trying to find out, and the common questions that weren't idiotic that they wanted to figure out.

Here's what he wrote:

What We Know:

A strange woman with stranger physical features came and took Belarus away.

She came with guards with very advanced weaponry and an emblem on their uniform.

The emblem looks like the seal of a country.

The supposed country is not in the United Nations.

We can't get out, and Estonia's laptop and our cell phones don't work.

The television turns on sometimes, and it shows the same emblem, and plays a song that sounds like an anthem for a minute.

There's some sort of parade with teenagers from the ages of twelve to eighteen participating.

They all have strange outfits on, some skimpy, some rather crudely designed, some elaborate.

The people watching are strange looking.

It looks like statistics for sports games were just posted.

The woman said Belarus is going to be competing in, "The Hunger Games."

What We Want To Find Out:

Who is the woman in red?

If it's a country the emblem is, why hasn't it come forward?

Why don't the laptops and cell phones work?

When did we get locked in?

Why does the television keep turning on and off?

Why doesn't it do so when we want it to?

What is the parade about?

What are the Hunger Games?

After writing all of this down, Germany rubbed his temples irritably and strode over to the gathering of quarreling nations, and attempted to bring order to the rowdy group.

Night fell, and the nations fell asleep. Still, no one had come to help them, they couldn't get out, and the television hadn't turned on in the meantime. Germany had found a way to knock everyone unconscious, as to stop the bloodshed that was inevitable should it all continue.

Time flew by, and a day passed, of waiting, and stealing food from innocent pedestrians with a really long pole from between the steel bars of the window. Now it was nightfall again.

The TV buzzed on, and woke the nations with the strange song blaring into the room (which caused America to fly up in the air, "Don't worry! The hero is here!) and the seal materializing onto the screen.

"...back to our interviews... Final tribute of the night... Final Quarter Quell addition and first and only Tribute of the Capitol, Natalya Arlovskya!" An announcer's voice buzzed into view.

Hearing the human name of their fellow nation, everyone immediately flew over to the TV and grabbed a seat.

They saw the picture on the television enhance itself, back to it's HD former glory as it had a day or so ago.

A strange man in a midnight blue suit dotted with countless minuscule electric bulbs, each as small as an ant, that shimmered like stars, with a face behind pale makeup, and bright orange hair, eyelids and lips who had called them awake (Who had this creepy vibe to him, like he was older then he looked, sort of like how humans feel around nations, and ) was seated on a stage, with a second chair beside him, presumably for the female nation.

Within moments, she appeared, and took everyone's breath away.

The female nation stepped into the light, and was barely recognizable. Her ivory skin glowed in the artificial light, snowy hair with it's silver streaks falling freely down her back. She wore absolutely no makeup, and her sapphire colored eyes flashed in the light.

Her dress was absolutely magnificent, much more beautiful then any of the other 'tributes'.

It had sleeves that flowed like water from the sea, an ice blue so pale it was almost white.

Her skirt was much like the one on the chariot, long, falling down almost to her toes, stopping just below the ankle. It was flowing and billowing behind her like the wind was whirling the darkest parts of the sea into the midnight sky, every shade between ice and midnight blue, with a few indigo hints and pale silver streaks that appeared and vanished with every move the female nation made.

Her bodice was simple, deep blue with silver streaks, well fitting with a modest neckline. The Belarusian nation was twirled by the strange orange haired man, as all the other teenagers had and the nations were given a full look at what she was wearing.

They noticed that peeking out from below her dress, there were high heeled boots that looked like they were made of crystal, with indigo laces, sending out streaks of white light everywhere. Her trademark white hair bow was still on her head, and seemed rather out of place with the elaborate attire. As the creepy man begun to twirl Belarus, they saw tongues of pale blue fire suddenly appear on her back, and take the form of wings. Everyone, both on TV and watching, gasped at this, and most all the nations' eyes bugged out of their heads. Belarus seemed slightly surprised too, but instead of freaking out, like what the nations were doing (America ran off in search of a fire hydrant. "THE HERO WILL SAVE YOU!" Apparently, hamburgers decrease one's I.Q. by a lot), she simply smiled and shrugged her shoulders, the wings of fire moving with her.

She looked, overall, like a creature from another world.

She was seated in the chair alongside the strange orange-haired man, subtitles rolling across the screen revealing his name to be Caesar Flickerman and he begun what the nations guessed was some sort of interview.

"So Natalya," the orange headed man said in a cheesy talk show host voice. "It seems you're the other half of our Quarter Quell variable this year. Are you worried at all that you will be targeted because you're from the Capitol?"

Belarus narrowed her gaze. "I'd prefer it if you call me Belarus, it is my name, _not_ Natalya Arlovskya."

"Okay, Belarus. No problem with a nickname. Now do I need to repeat myself?"

"_Niama_, I heard you loud and clear." Belarus spoke, the tone of her voice freezing over. "I know for sure that I will be hated, and that may ruin my chances of making any alliances, and it will make me a bigger target. But don't confuse me with someone else. I'm not from the Capitol."

A long silence followed, and Flickerman hurriedly moved on to the next question. "So, your big debut in the opening procession. Your dress was amazing. And tell me, did you feel alone out there, everyone but the other Quell variable with someone with them?

"Thank you." Belarus said without any trace of emotion in her voice. "I was grateful that it was not... provocative. And for your question, not really. If I did, I wouldn't have felt anything anyway. Nothing different from what I do every day."

Caesar nodded, almost like he pitied her, although a puzzled expression was clear on his face. "I... see..." Then the way-too-perfect-to-be-real smile of his turned on, as if flipping a switch, and he switched topics.

"Any family back home?"

Ah... There it was. The watching nations were immediately divided into the following categories: Those who smirked, those who eye-rolled, those who chuckled under their breaths, those who mumbled to each other about what they thought she would say, those who stared expectantly at Russia, and those who did a combination of the above.

"My family..." Belarus trailed off, and a misty haze frosted her gaze for a moment, then evaporated into the deadpan. "I have an older brother and sister... But I only live under my brother's house now, my older sister has left."

"No parents?"

"_Niama_, we never did. It used to be just us, alone in a remote corner of the world." Belarus spoke barely above a whisper, with that misty look in her eyes returning. "The only time I ever had lasting relations with someone outside of my family was when someone attacked me. Even when others joined, they never stayed. I just cannot seem to know how to let anyone else come near me anymore."

So that explained the psycho knife thing. And her obsession with Russia when she was younger. To the nations, it was simply because it was only him that had never left her, who had never harmed her, or if he did, she never seemed to mind. As far as they were concerned, she still had an obsessive love for her older brother, but at least they had a theory as to why.

You could tell that Caesar wanted to know more about Belarus's past, but she quickly transformed her face into the deadpan, which morphed into a much more menacing glare she gave him. Smartly, he decided to once again change the topic.

"So, you got a twelve for your score, huh? Pretty high for a... Um... It's very high, the best you could receive. What's your secret?" Everyone could hear the quiver in Flickerman's voice, as if he was worried that if he said something wrong, or slipped up, all hell could break loose. Belarus noticed it too.

"Thank you." Her voice reflected her deadpan, but it had a darker edge to it, a hidden message that she knew exactly what he meant."As you are well aware of, I am not at liberty to say what I did in there, all I can say is that I am well aware that you expected lower of me. That some teenager from the Capitol doesn't possibly know how to defend herself, or survive in the wilderness. That I'm useless. But no matter where I'm from, you expected the same of me from the moment I was entered in these Games. And I assure you, you're in for quite a surprise."

You could have heard a pin drop.

A buzzer went off, and Belarus stood up. "My time with you is up." She said, as the female nation strode unceremoniously off the stage, the screen the nations were observing buzzing out.

No one noticed that the moment that she turned to leave, her eyes grew large, and were reminiscent of broken glass. Or that her hands were shaking all through the interview.

The Head Gamemaker sat calmly at her desk, and an inspired smile appeared on her cherry red lips as the interviews concluded.

She had an idea.

She pressed the small intercom button on the outer edge of her desk with one black gloved hand.

"Dietrich." She addressed the other Gamemaker, the one in charge of the weapons to be placed in the Cornucopia, on the other end.

"Yes?" Came his scratchy voice on the other end.

"I have a request for you."

"What sort of request are you speaking of, Head Gamemaker?"

"I have an idea of how we can shake things up this year. Something to cripple our favorite, and something to add a little more... conflict between the tributes. The thing I have in mind will both help and harm whomever is in possession of it, if they're hasty, not careful, or if they tell an ally too much."

There was silence on the other end, then...

"...I'm listening..."


	3. Frenzy

Well... I'm back... Sorry about the organizational issues on the last one, my computer keeps screwing up on me... (My dad is cheaper then Switzerland and Austria's love child...) Hopefully this time will be better, but if it doesn't, bear with me.

So yeah...

If you're confused as to why things happened so fast, it's because Belarus arrived to the Capitol late, around the time when you usually get your score, the interviews following the next night.

Anyhow, it all begins today... And we'll find out what special surprises the Gamemakers have in store for what goes into the Cornucopia...

Hint hint: An amazing advantage has a deadly secret, and the lack of a certain supply will have everyone going, "Are you flipping kidding me?", after all, these certain things can work with pretty much everything and are rather multipurpose.

* * *

><strong>DISCLAIMER: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or The Hunger Games, or this would have really happened.<strong>

I had only the slightest notion of what was going on as I was pushed into the strange metal tube.

I could feel the plate I stood on rising, and was in complete darkness for around thirty seconds. In those moments, I decided on what I would do.

Since the stylists were so gracious as to tell me a bit about what to expect, not so much as to who or what would kill me first, I have a basic game plan laid out in my head.

First, I knew that there wouldn't always be the same things in the Cornucopia, that sometimes there would be a bounty of useful things, sometimes just a few weapons, all of the same type. Sometimes, like a few years ago, there was absolutely nothing, and the tributes had to do everything on their own. Not even sponsors were allowed on that year.

I had already prepared, and trained with all the weapons I knew I was good with. Daggers, knives, guns, throwing stars, and refreshing myself with archery. Long distance was my specialty. But here, I needed to get close.

So in the time I trained, I got stronger, replacing the strength the Capitol took from me when they made me as powerful as a human somehow, hoping it would be enough. I tried maces, swords, spears, and the like, but they just weren't the same.

Second, I knew that the terrain would be changed every year, and that it would always have some sort of trees in it, to avoid boring deaths. Lovely. So I made plans to head for the trees when I saw them. They provided food, possibly water, and a place to hide.

Third, I knew that everyone who makes for the biggest source of water usually gets killed by the stronger tributes who gathered there. So I would just have to find another. There always was one, the tributes just had to find it.

Suddenly, a crack of white light appeared, and became around the size of my metal plate. I shielded my eyes to it, and the smell of wild wood entered my nose.

My eyes adjusted to the strange light, filtered through dark gray clouds that rumbled promises of storms any second, and I drank in my surroundings.

I could see the great golden horn of the Cornucopia, with so many weapons, backpacks, and supplies scattered around. Maces, spears, swords, harpoons, throwing stars, a pair of sais, and so many other fun toys that could kill me. Just a few meters away from my plate, there was a jagged rock around the size of my fist. Around ten meters from that, in the middle of the scattered supplies, there was a small black knapsack. I made a mental note to retrieve it.

I could see to my left, in the distance there was a large deep blue lake, to the right, boundless woods of tall trees, both coniferous and deciduous.

In the far distance, it looked like desert with a tiny spot of something shockingly blue in the center, which I took to be an oasis. Perhaps it would be a good place to wait out the Games. But then again, it was the Capitol, where people dyed themselves a different color every day and where they forced teenagers to kill each other for entertainment. It had to be a trap. Nothing was that easy.

I took a chance to look behind me. Tall grass interrupted my view, gold and green grasses flowed like a wild horse's mane in the cool wind.

I took note of the weather. It was clouded, and the sun had vanished behind a dark charcoal one, with the distant rumbles of the rain that would surely come any moment now.

I turned to observe the other tributes. The weaker, less remarkable ones. The ones who hadn't trained for this, yet knew skills that would be useful in the arena. The powerful ones I learned were Careers who trained for their whole lives for this moment, who banded together to pick off the weaker players, who were, at first glance, my greatest foes. The ones who were experts at survival, who could just hide out somewhere and win. The ones I knew nothing about, who definitely had secret skills, who were, in reality, my greatest challenge, and were the most dangerous of all. After all, if you don't know your enemy, you can't find an easy way to take them down.

I tensed my muscles, and narrowed my eyes. Why wasn't anyone moving? The Cornucopia was right there, with the best of the weapons free to take.

Unless...

I understood, as I saw the small, lightweight girl (What was her name, Gallia?) look nervously at the ground around her plate with her wide mint green eyes, her long tangled black hair sliding down her shoulders. I saw the slightest irregular bump in the terrain.

They were mined.

Obviously it was common knowledge to everyone but me and the girl from District 13, who stared at everyone quizzically, and stepped carefully off of the platform she was on.

Sharp intakes of breath resounded across the Cornucopia clearing as the 13 girl took a step forward. Some were looking with horror, or confusion, dark fascination and anticipation, but the Careers were smirking. One tribute closer to victory, was what they were probably thinking.

The girl stared us, then smiled triumphantly. "Well? I didn't expect the Cornucopia to be this easy." She took another step towards the gigantic golden horn.

There wasn't time to scream, or even react. There was the smallest metallic _click_, barely audible. Not a fraction of a second later, a very precise and controlled explosion blared into my eardrums, appearing right where 13's tribute was standing. She might have screamed, for the last second when she was alive, but if she did, I didn't hear her. I thought I heard a gong go off in the midst of all that, but with my ears ringing, I couldn't be sure.

A moment later, red glops of gore rained down onto the ground.

And the smiles on the Careers' faces grew larger.

We stood there for ten more seconds, just staring. A small twelve year old girl was crying.

Then the gong sounded for a second time, perhaps to make up for what the noise of the death of the 13 girl had caused.

Everyone, including me, sprung off the plates, and begun sprinting in every which way. Several of the tributes scattered into the woods, or flew off towards the lake. But most of us, including myself, raced straight for the Cornucopia. All I knew was, I needed supplies, those who ran off would probably die in a few days or so without things to help them on their way. Supplies and weapons made up a critical role in a tribute's survival, or so my prep team had told me.

I dashed straight at the jagged stone I had originally laid eyes on, if I had to get out fast, at least I would have it to defend myself with, even though it was a rock. I saw all around me, that some tributes had already reached the richer parts of the Cornucopia, and weapons were being grabbed.

The small girl, Gallia, was very nimble and light footed, and had just retrieved a small knapsack and a pair of those unique throwing axes, that were precise and light and flew like boomerangs, yet still sliced like Denmark's ax when they met their target. I saw she sprinted off into the forest, the silver glint of one of the hilts the last thing I saw of her.

I locked my gaze on the knapsack I had originally laid eyes on, and raced towards it as fast as my feet could carry me. I slid on my knees, scooping one of the straps up in my hands and transferring it to my arm, but before I could loop it onto my back properly, the sound of feet rushing towards me jolted me to my senses.

A tall, powerful and muscular boy, around fifteen, was racing towards me, clearly with the intentions of taking the sack I had just claimed. He was unarmed, as far as I could see, but I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances to find out. From what I had seen in the training room, he had a powerful punch and was stronger then everyone else when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

He took a single long stride, and as he pounced, meaty hands outstretched, seeking my neck, an age old instinct snapped into my mind. I flung my hand, with the stone-weapon upwards, to meet his face, particularly his temple, and heard a sickening _crunch. _

The boy simply crumpled to the ground beside me, and taking no time to assess his condition, knowing I had just dented his skull, I leaped to my feet and sprinted off towards the woods. I knew that there was always an alternative water source elsewhere, you just had to look. And I didn't feel like meeting up with players twice my size every five minutes when I stop for a drink. Despite the possibility of water and fish, I decided it just wasn't worth the risk.

I skidded to a halt, and ran in the opposite direction when a pair of Careers (District 4?) appeared armed with harpoons. I headed back towards the plates, and the meadow, but was halted by a boy wielding two sais and a girl with throwing stars in between each finger. A boy with a broadsword and a girl with a morningstar, both of them I knew were from District 10, came up on the side of the lake.

They circled me, tightening their hold on me, and I realized that I couldn't escape. If I ran in any direction, I would be harpooned, stabbed, or sliced in half. I backed away from the pack of tributes intent on hunting me, moving towards the Cornucopia which I feared would be soaked with my blood at any given moment.

Suddenly, an idea popped into my head.

"Hey lapdog," The morningstar girl growled, grinning with slitted brown eyes, "I don't know how you got that twelve in the training room, but it doesn't matter. You'll never last a minute out here in the real world. You're just a softie."

I took a step back, and each tribute took one forward. We continued this macabre dance until I was within safe distance of the Cornucopia. All the while the pack of players were jeering at me, taunting me with insults that I didn't feel. They couldn't hurt me, after all, I had numbed myself to the taunts long before, and besides, I wasn't from the Capitol, and I was quite a warrior. When I was a nation.

I took a deep breath, and a countdown started in my head.

Five.

"...Astonishing that you don't look as freaky as your citizens, though I doubt that your hair and eyes are real..."

Four.

"So stupid, do you really think you stood a chance?"

Three.

"I'll bet you didn't even have to show them anything to get that score, that you just got it because you're from the Capitol."

Two.

"And what was _that_ in the interviews? You had no personality. I'd expect that much from a Capitol citizen."

One.

I flew backwards, and into the dark mouth of the golden horn, pushing back until I rounded the bend of the Cornucopia's little tunnel, and was out of their view.

I flattened myself against the metal wall, woven to look like straw, and begun breathing heavily.

"What's the matter, lapdog? You scared? Why don't you come out and play?"

I could hear the unsteady drumbeat that was my heart as icy adrenaline coursed through my veins and trickled down my neck. _Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump..._

The sound of my heartbeat, combined with the soft metallic ringing of the raindrops that had just begun to fall reverberating against the metal horn.

Their footsteps sounded in the distance, growing closer with every second that passed.

I scanned the semi-darkness of the Cornucopia around me, hoping something that I could use to get rid of them was there.

My prayers must have been answered, for my eyes fell on three things left in the Cornucopia, tucked away in a little alcove in the wall that I wouldn't have noticed had I not been so terrified and desperate.

There was a very small, dark crimson fruit, so small that I could finish it in three bites. Beside it was a large coil of silvery thread, which, when I picked it up, I realized that it was very powerful, more so then rope or cable. I pocketed the fruit, and was about to do the same to the cable when I saw the third thing.

In the darkest corner of the alcove was a bow and a quiver of twelve arrows.

I heard the footsteps come closer as I reached out and snatched them.

A new plan appeared in my mind as I wrapped the coil of the thin cable around my wrist, tying one end to an arrow which I drew in my bow.

I pulled the quiver over my free shoulder, and took a deep breath.

And I stepped forward, just inside the Cornucopia entrance.

I held my head high, and looked the girl with the morningstar, who seemed to be the leader of the group, in the eye. If I was going to die, I may as well go down being someone worth remembering. Funny, it was the same idea in my head the day Germany had launched Operation Barbarossa. And we all know how _that_ turned out for me, not that anyone cares enough teaches it in history classes other then my own.

I raised my bow, and the arrow aligned with the girl's head. I hadn't used a bow in so long, I knew I was a good shot, and had briefly refreshed myself in the training room. But the only time I had ever made a bullseye was when I was closer. Would I really be able to kill her from this distance?

"Nice toy." the girl hissed, smirking all the while. She was far too confident. "I doubt you can actually use it."

I took note of everyone as quickly as I could, the 4 boy and girl with their harpoons high, the girl with the throwing stars, the boys with the sais and the broadsword. The ones I was most concerned about were the players wielding the harpoons and throwing stars. They could kill from a distance.

I stepped out into the open. It was probably better that I made the first move, before they could corner me.

All of a sudden, the sun broke free of the clouds, and in spite of ourselves, the other tributes and I looked up. It made the rain all the more brilliant, little streaks of light, and illuminated the Cornucopia. The grass became a more rich golden green color.

Now or never, I decided, while everyone was distracted. I prepared the arrow for launching, the silver cable securely fastened near the end. I heard a single four-note bird call. Within a few moments, many more birds joined in, all singing the same four notes, each only once, then stopping altogether.

I cocked my head to the side, a bit confused as to why, but then the sun faded away and I presumed they were telling the world that it had come.

I shook my head, and took a deep breath.

And I shot.

My aim was fairly good, and the arrow hit it's target flawlessly.

The District 10 girl with the morningstar fell back, the arrow lodged into her left eye, making it look like I was better then I really was. I tugged my wrist back, and the arrow dislodged itself from her eye socket, flying back to my outstretched hand.

I had the stares of the pack of tributes, frozen in place.

I took the chance, and I ran.

A few moments after I ran into the tree line, I heard shouts and the sound of a struggle behind me. So they weren't really an alliance yet. Better for me.

I realized for the first time, when I dared to look behind me, that there were several corpses being lifted by metal claws from a silent aircraft in the sky, a bit like one of those blimps America flies around, but sleeker and more aerodynamic.

As I counted bodies, cannons went off. My prep team had said they saved the Cornucopia bloodbath victims' cannons for after it was done, so we could all take note of who was dead and whatnot.

One, the District 13 girl and only other variable of the Quarter Quell (Whatever that was), who was being scraped off of the ground.

Two, a girl with a mace in her side.

Three, the twelve year old girl who was crying.

Four, the boy I had bludgeoned with the rock.

Five, six, the kids from District 7, with swords lodged in their torsos.

Seven, A girl with part of a scythe lodged in her chest.

Eight, the girl I had shot.

And as quickly as it had come, the strange aircraft had disappeared.

I realized that I had ended up near the lake, when I had broken the tree line to reveal the massive cobalt waterhole, with tall reeds and rushes around it. Even though the lake was possibly the worst place I could end up, I decided I may as well take the time to drink and get water for traveling, if whatever was in the knapsack could carry water. At least I could hide here.

I stopped in a dense forest of reeds right next to the water to examine the contents of the mottled brown knapsack I had carried. Inside at the top there was the strange red fruit I had found in the Cornucopia. Below it, there was a pack of twenty matches, a first aid kit, a small pack of crackers, a small blanket, a bone-dry canteen, and a vial of some sort of blue liquid.

I placed the silver wire on top of my little stash, and took the canteen out, filling it hastily, and gulping down it's contents. I hurriedly filled it again, and put it back in the small sack, slinging it back over my shoulder.

I sat there for a while, something was bugging me. It felt like something was missing at the Cornucopia, that something that should have been there wasn't.

I wondered for a few moments what that could possibly be, while I sharpened the jagged rock into a makeshift dagger.

Wait a moment...

It hit me then. There were absolutely no knives.

Strange. According to my somewhat limited knowledge of the history of the Hunger Games, there was only one time when there were no knives, when nothing was in the Cornucopia, but that was by design, not by lack of resources.

By design...

Had the Gamemakers planned this?

Before I could ponder this concept further, the sounds of running footsteps, shouts, and reeds rushing right near me flowed into my ears, and all I could do was watch as a boy was driven out into the water by the 4 tributes, who disappeared soon after, and begun flailing about, screaming for help that intermixed with the gurgles as he begun to sink below the surface.

He was drowning.


	4. Tentacle

Well, I'm back with Chapter 4. Kudos to those who have an idea about what will be the greatest weakness/strength thing. Another little hint: It's going to decide the winner of the games, but not exactly in the way you'd expect. If not, all will be revealed in good time...

But first, I'd like to say thanks for all the reviews. Some have even given me ideas of little twists to put into the story, so keep on reviewing (I love reading them) and look carefully, it may come up later in the fanfic.

So anyway, here we have another addition, sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been out of town for the holidays with no access to my laptop... And I may not be able to update as soon as I like, what with New Year preparations... Anyhow, I hope you all like it.

** DISCLAIMER: You're a smart person, aren't you? Then fill in the blank. _ or _ do not belong to me. We done here? Good. Let's move on to the good stuff.**

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It was all I could do to sit there and watch the boy. My subconscious was debating with itself all the while as I watched him flail about. Should I help him? Should I not?

This was, after all, a killing game, and I knew that if he died, I would be so much closer to winning. And if it were a trap, I could get hurt as well. It wasn't like he was my brother or anything.

My brother...

What if the boy had a family back home? If he had a little sister who really loved him, much like how I loved my own brother, (not inappropriately though, but it doesn't stop the nations from thinking so) who really thought he would go home...

If he were Russia, I absolutely I would have rushed into the lake and helped him with no second thoughts or relevance to my own safety. So what was the big difference between Russia and the boy, if he was my brother or someone who would probably kill me seconds after we reach shore?

It would be the right thing to do, to save him. But it would be the smart thing to stay put, or walk away.

Before I could fully decide what to do, I heard a harsh _snap_ in the dense forest of tall reeds behind me.

I launched myself into the water without any second thoughts. My adrenaline was still pumping from the Cornucopia, I was still terrified that the huge band of tributes hadn't decided to follow me, and I didn't intend to get cornered again. Apparently, I was being driven towards the boy, so I would probably be helping him out, whether I liked it or not.

A bit odd, but the only thought running through my head at the time was, _Oh crap, did I forget to zip my backpack up?_ Don't worry, I subconsciously had. Otherwise I would have probably gone into a psychotic rampage, had it not been for the whole Hunger Games-tributes-trying-to-kill-me;-Oh-look-I'm-in-the-lake-now.-That's-just-wonderful.-Thing.

I registered that I could no longer touch the bottom with the very tip of my toe, and still kept swimming. Out near the center, where the boy was, was a far enough distance to not get harpooned, but as close as you could be to the shore. Like it or not, if I wanted to skip the bloodthirsty man-eating ever-so-elusive beasts of the deep that I was certain lurked down there, I was going to be with the boy.

I was about a meter away from the flailing boy, when I felt something powerful tug at my foot.

I kicked it away, and felt it again, with much more intensity. Whatever it was (It felt like a squid's tentacle), it had a powerful grip and it held on to my foot with a vengeance.

Suddenly, I felt a sudden burst of pain in my left foot, the one detained by the tentacle-thing, and I could see deep crimson blood blossoming around me in the water. My eyes widened, and I was yanked briefly below the surface.

At that moment, I knew for certain that it was a trap.

Stealing the moment to look down, I saw the creature that held me and the boy hostage.

It was a massive, dark green vine, perhaps fifty feet in length that I could see, that looked a lot like seaweed or kelp that was latched around our feet. I saw hundreds of tiny pinpricks of transparent needles materialize and penetrate through my leather boots, slicing into my flesh like a hot knife through butter, tiny pinpricks of pain running through my body with every stab, red liquid blooming like some sort of morbid flower from it.

Below us, in the murky depths, I saw the bright flash of silvery sunlight meeting the backs of hundreds of fish, and a school of barracuda materialized from the depths. They circled us, moving so close together that I could barely distinguish where one fish ended and another begun, moving like a single animal.

Speaking of larger fish, I could see a large shark moving up from the depths, it's dead black eyes staring right into mine, probably seeing if I was a meal worth waiting for.

I stared up at the distant gray light from the surface, the water rippling and swirling, distorting my view of the surface, the currents kicked up from both my and the boy's struggles, and the rain that was exploding the surface of the lake, as if tiny bombs were going off. My lungs felt like they were on fire as a slight cloud of darkness closed in on the very edges of my vision, as I let out a burst of strength, and rocketed upwards to the surface, for who knew how long before the vine thing sucked me back in?

I managed to surface long enough to get a glimpse of the sun behind the charcoal coverings, and captured a gasp of the air, then was pulled under once more.

But this time, I was ready.

Survival instincts older than I was hummed and whirred in my mind, and I registered that in my left hand, I was still clutching the rock I had sharpened into a dagger.

I calmed my struggling down, allowing the vine to creep upwards, ever so closer to completely constricting me, and once it was within my range, I hacked away at the strange thing, brandishing the stone dagger so ferociously, it only took a single swipe to chase the vine away from my foot. But I wasn't done. I whipped it around the depths, slicing the vine apart into pieces that moved when separated, like an earthworm. I realized that it was leaving me, and the boy alone. I had accidentally freed him in the process, and like it or not, we had to make it back to shore together.

I also realized that a barracuda that got too close was drifting towards me, with a part of it's head gone, the familiar dark red liquid puffing around it.

_What_ _the_ _heck_, I decided as I grabbed it when I swam past. Food was food, and I didn't know how long I could last without it, or if there would be enough wherever I would end up. I knew there were the crackers in my knapsack, but they couldn't last forever, and I had reason to believe they had been reduced to sopping pulp from the water. And besides, it was always wise to have extra on hand, we would probably be lured into a fight through the promise of something to eat.

Before long, both the boy and I had felt the ground under our feet, and the sandy shoreline was upon us.

I collapsed onto my knees, breathing heavily, making up for air I had lost, courtesy of our lovely tentacled friend from the Capitol's labs. It disturbed me how such a creature was even possible, how on earth could a vine/animal/? possibly be capable of doing such a thing? Then again, I was in the strange and brutal sport known as the Hunger Games, reminiscent of Italy and Romano's grandfather Rome's gladiatorial games. The Capitol was capable of creating ways to alter one's appearance so much, you could look like an animal, complete with whiskers, claws and tail. So why not create animals as well? But what really disturbed me about this idea was obvious, simple, but really disgusting and demented.

These people had designed these creatures just to kill us.

They deliberately altered the behavior of animals and plants, of nature of itself, just to add a little extra in the Wow Factor for the Games (Or perhaps, the sarcastic humor side of my brain decided, that they needed a hobby.). Not that it was lacking.

But if twenty-four (Technically twenty-six this year) teenagers fighting to the death in an arena bereft of civilization wasn't enough, what was?

I looked up, my brief little meditation over. I had to focus on the potential foe who had just emerged beside me, also regaining his breath.

We turned and faced each other at the exact same time, and I felt the oddest little tingle in my back, along my spine, really the slightest sensation. If you ever so lightly brush your fingers along your back, that is what it felt like.

I made a move to get off of my knees and stand on my feet, and his green eyes widened, then glittered with the same dark intensity that the girl with the morningstar had.

Oh crap.

The world's nations gathered in the conference room just stared at the screen, trying to digest exactly what was happening here. Everyone was so confused and disturbed by what was happening in front of them, that England and France weren't attacking each other, but huddled up together, with Tony squished in the middle, enjoying the love.

America was cuddling Flying Mint Bunny, the unicorn and all of England's magical buddies.

Switzerland was more or less memorized by what he was watching, and no one noticed Lichtenstein had a front row seat to the strange and graphic TV show.

Hungary, Austria and Prussia were sitting calmly together, with no frying pans, pianos, or awesome Gilbirds around.

Turkey, Greece and Japan were doing the same, but this time around with weapons, cats and manga.

Kumajiro looked up at Canada and said, "Hey Canada, what's going on?"

"I dunno, Kumajiro."

Norway wasn't strangling Denmark this time, and Sweden didn't have a menacing aura around himself, which attracted several of the more timid nations (Aka: The Baltic Trio and Co.) to hug him like a giant teddy bear.

Sudan and South Sudan were huddling together, not arguing.

All Italy knew was, he had returned from the recently busted-in bathroom (He made it a point to hug Denmark later), and suddenly, there was another fight going on. He huddled up to Germany, and Ve~d quietly, watching with wide puppy dog eyes the bloody scenes unfold in front of him.

First, there were the gruesome deaths of the teenagers in the ferocious bloodbath for the supplies and weapons in that giant golden horn thing.

Then, there was that girl who went out into the desert (Italy noted that she was very pretty), only to find the oasis he would have personally gone to (But only if Germany took him) was nothing more then reflective blue stone. Naturally, Italy thought that it couldn't get any worse. But of course, the universe has a knack for proving everyone wrong.

When she turned to go back, the hyenas got her.

Strange, he hadn't seen them come up from behind her. It was as if they rose up from the sand just to kill her, before they simply vanished into the side of another dune.

The weirdest thing about the whole thing, though, more so then France and England cuddling, Lichtenstein watching this without Switzerland shooting holes in everyone, and Hungary not trying to give Prussia a concussion, amongst many, many other things,was this strange sense of nostalgia all the nations shared. It was as if they had seen it before. Sure, they all had more or less seen quite a bit of warfare in their days. But this was different.

These were children, some just twelve years old. They were killing each other viciously, with no remorse. For heck's sake, they just watched a nervous wreck of a little twelve year old girl get disemboweled by a kid twice her size, and another get blown to smithereens. This was disturbing.

The nations had no clue what was going on, but they knew what they were watching wasn't some movie or reality show, nor was it some kind of prank.

This was real.

Hidden in a back corner of the room, a certain nation had his feet up on the table, with a childish sugary smile laced with venom lighting up his face. A pair of amethyst eyes gleamed in satisfaction as the large nation smirked.

Things were going perfectly. His crazy little sister was gone, and her special abilities as a nation were as well. She was going to die out there, he knew this was inevitable.

And then, he could officially begin his expansion.

And now that she was gone, no one would be there to stop him.

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I jumped up to my feet, just as he whirled out from behind his back a pair of wooden arrows. Two of the arrows from my quiver.

So that was the sensation I had felt.

He had pickpocketed me.

The boy lunged at me with the sharp stone points, and I rolled out of the way, pulling out my stone dagger. It was rather heavy, and not as sharp as I would have liked, but it was a knife (sort of), and it was my weapon of choice. I had more likely of a chance with killing him than with the bow.

He lunged again, and I dodged, sliding to the side, jumping up to my feet.

The boy didn't take time to think, or so it seemed, charging at me with a ferocious bloodlust in his eyes, the arrow tips waving about.

The rain distorted my vision slightly, but it gave me an idea as my feet skidded in the soaked sandy dirt.

He charged at me once more, and I didn't move until I could see the whites of his eyes. Then, I flew to the side as he pitched forward, determined to manhandle me to the ground. I kicked up a flurry of soaked sandy soil, clouding around his face and getting into his eyes. They were red tinged and shedding tears as he attempted to rub them out, still thrashing violently as if he expected me to lunge at him. I had anyway, but there was something I needed to do first.

The silver cable was still wrapped around my wrist, and the stone dagger still firmly in my grasp. There was a tiny hole near the handle of the stone weapon, that I had accidentally created when shaping it into a handle. I hurriedly located the arrow with the cable, and pulled on it, releasing the arrow from the silver strands hold. I threaded the dagger and tied it securely. It was becoming a habit of mine, that I could have a way to easily get back the things I threw or shot, so I wouldn't have to get in close to retrieve my weapons.

I had it done just in the nick of time, for the boy regained his vision and roared with fury. He stampeded towards me, his feet kicking up little waves of sand in the process, and I sidestepped him again, this time dancing away just behind the tree line, where I climbed atop a half fallen log, hanging diagonally, held up by another tree.

Here I had a clear view of the boy, as he did me. But there was one difference here. Though he had my arrows, he didn't have my bow. He couldn't hurt me up here. But I could.

I acted on battle instinct that had been drilled into me through centuries of warfare, and the stone projectile whizzed out of my hand, hitting him right in the throat, right where the life giving artery used to be in one place. It felt heavier then usual, and had taken more time to judge distance, but it was effective in the end.

He slumped on the sandy ground, staining it dark red. Somewhere in the distance, a cannon sounded.

I leaped down from my perch in the half fallen tree and retrieved the two arrows, searching the boy for anything else. He had nothing, but the fish I had accidentally killed while in combat with the vine creature.

I placed the arrows back in my quiver, and removed the dagger from his throat. It was stained a deep red now, so I went over to the edge of the water, and placed it and the arrow I had killed the morningstar girl with back at the Bloodbath. I first drained the canteen of water I had inside my pack, also seeing that the crackers, as I had expected, had dissolved into a sort of pulp. I had no use for them anymore, so I dumped it onto the sand. Even the fish weren't that picky.

I quickly refilled my canteen, and bent down to wash the blood from my hands and the weapons. It left my hands and the dagger easily, the arrow with more effort, as it was dry. But eventually, the evidence that I had killed had vanished, and I returned the arrow to it's proper place.

I turned to leave, intending to head off towards the forest, when I caught a glimpse of the boy I had just killed.

I walked over to his carcass, and looked down at it, my deep sapphire eyes darkening as I observed what I had done.

His green eyes were frozen with surprise, the final moment of seeing the obsidian blade fly out of nowhere, and then eternal darkness immortalized in his gaze, sightless towards the sky. His chocolate brown hair was still wet from our little predicament in the lake. The boy's fatal wound was still gushing the final amounts of dark crimson blood onto the sand.

It was odd, seeing what I had done. I had killed before, all nations had, and I hadn't felt any remorse then. But being the equivalent of a human here, it was different. I felt the strangest mixture of emotions.

There was relief, that there was one less enemy to deal with, one tribute closer to victory, that I had survived.

There was regret, I could have just run off into the forest and left him alive, but I didn't, choosing to kill him.

There was grief, for the people back in whatever district he was from, that they would never see this boy again. They were probably hoping for me to die.

There was fear. Fear for my own life, that I could really die out here, at the hands of someone not much older then my given age, sixteen.

But most of all, there was fear of what I had become in the past, shaped by the countless wars and struggles that I had witnessed and taken part in in my lands, of what I was becoming.

Even a few hours in and I already was terrified of how this place was changing me. To the nations who were probably watching, I wasn't all that different. They had seen me throw knives and fight them in the past. Now they just got a replay of the events. They probably thought I was a cold hearted killer. I may have been, but that was the people of my country, not me. Here, I wasn't bound to my people, nor my government, nor even my land. Here I didn't have to kill and feel no sadness, I didn't have to pretend to want to become one with my brother, I didn't have to put up with all of the nations' jeers and taunts. I wasn't Belarus, the former Soviet Union country who isolated herself from the world. I wasn't Natalya Arlovskya, the mysterious Belarusian political incognito working for Lukashenko either.

I was simply... me, whoever that was.

But enough of my quest for self-identity. It didn't matter anyway. I would either die here, or win and go back to Russia, and my identity as a human didn't matter if I was going to die, nor would it be if I were a nation, as I would just vanish into Russia eventually. I would someday end up a footnote in a history book, with no one caring enough to wonder who I once was. Back to reality. Harsh, ferocious, disturbing reality.

I had just killed three people, within a few hours of each other. I had killed more, being a nation, but this was different. These people were just kids. An eighteen year old boy, a seventeen year old girl, a fifteen year old boy, all of whom had tried to kill me, all of whom I had murdered without mercy, in self defense.

All of whom would never see their loved ones again.

I shook my head and the slightest presence of the essence threatening to spill over my eyes disappeared. I let out a sad sigh, and finally sprinted away into the woods, intending to put as much distance between me and the boy's body as possible. I also knew that the District 4 tributes were around here somewhere, I had seen them chase him into the water, but I would have known if the rest of the pack of tributes who had ganged up on me at the beginning were present.

Perhaps the scuffle I had heard back there was true to my guess, that they had just temporarily made a truce in order to kill me at the Cornucopia, that no official alliance had been made yet, and in the panic and confusion that followed, hopes of one went up in flames.

I slowed my pace to a steady jog, hoping to put as much distance as possible between me and the other tributes.

I noticed a clearing up ahead, a small outcropping of rocks that formed a perfect cave, and even better, a pond nearby.

I immediately waded into the pond, and felt the cool water flow up to my waist. Strange plants were in the water as well, nothing I had ever seen in any country I had visited (excepting this place called Panem, wherever we were). I recognized it from the edible plants class I had taken in the three days of training we were given. It was called... what was the name? Ah, yes...

Katniss.

I dug up the bulbs, and found enough for a surplus should I need to get on the move later.

The roots were prepared the way I had been taught, a bit unprofessionally as I had been rushed through the skill, but nonetheless I did decently.

I decided to build a fire, and cook the fish and roots, as it was late afternoon, the sun was sinking low in the sky, and everyone knew better then to build a fire at night. Even if someone did see the smoke, I had arrows and a knife, plenty of places to hide, and very good aim. I was pretty sure I'd be fine for the time being. Besides, everyone was obsessed with picking off as many tributes as possible and though they would be looking for smoke, only some would come and attack, as others wouldn't want to take any chances.

A little while passed, and I had eaten the barracuda (What? It was a small fish, I'm not a pig like that America) and several of the katniss bulbs, the rest placed into my bag for safe keeping. Night was falling, and I could see the sun vanish behind the desert in the distance, from my perch on top of the tall rocks. I noticed there was something odd about the oasis out there. It looked more like reflective stone now. Perhaps it was a trick from the Capitol to pick off any tributes who wanted to take the easy way out, and wait for the rest of the tributes to die.

At any rate, I was glad I had decided not to travel there.

Off in the direction of the desert, a cannon sounded.

I jumped a few inches into the air at the sound of the Capitol's intimidating anthem blaring out of nowhere, the seal appearing on the sky, then relaxed. It was common knowledge, whether you knew what the Hunger Games were or not, that no one was killed during the announcements of who was killed. Everyone wanted to see who was dead.

I could see that the first tribute to appear in the sky was the redheaded girl from District 3, who had a mace embedded in her torso in the bloodbath. So both from 1 and 2 were alive.

Second to appear was the girl from District 5, who as far as I know, hadn't been in the bloodbath. She had curly blond hair, and watery gray eyes, really quite attractive, and remained nameless. I wondered how she had died. Since no cannons sounded outside of the bloodbath, and the boy I had killed, I had to surmise that she was the one who died out in the desert. She probably took up the oasis offer.

The twelve year old crybaby girl from 6, Nadia, with her copper skin and dark hair who hadn't made it out of the bloodbath.

Both from 7, who I recognized from the bloodbath. A memory I hadn't yet recalled appeared. In the background of my vision, I recalled those two, stabbing each other with swords, each fatally wounded in the process, when I dove for the backpack.

There was that powerful beast of a boy, who I discovered was from District 9, the one whom I had bludgeoned over the head with my rock dagger, back when it was more of a rock.

Both from District 10. The girl I recognize as the ferocious morningstar wielding one. The boy, with his dark brown hair and green eyes I recognized from the lake. I had killed both of them.

Finally, the girl from District 13, part of the variable in the Quarter Quell thing.

The seal appeared, the anthem blared out again, and all was silent.

I took my blanket out, and huddled under it with the fire mostly out, just a few embers still glowing, that I kept going for a while. I would be able to keep cooking in the morning, after I got some sleep.

I kept my backpack and quiver on and laid on my side, curling up into a ball to allow the blanket to cover me fully, with the added bulk of the backpack and quiver. After a while, the uncomfortable feeling I had about sleeping in such a position disappeared, and I was content.

I felt my eyes close slowly, as I looked up at the stars.

_How strange_, I mused, _the stars are much different here. Like the ones in America but... Different somehow. I wonder why._

The night was spent peacefully, but it ended abruptly, when I felt the hot, meat-smelling breath on the back of my neck, and heard the low grunts and growls of a bear.


	5. Rabid

Okay... Chapter 5 is here, as hoped for. I'd like to apologize for such a short chapter, I had a bit of spare time where my WordDoc didn't explode on me, and this is the result.

(Off topic thing: I just learned that South Sudan and I share a birthday! Even more reason to celebrate!)

So yeah, last we left off, Belarus has killed three tributes so far, and is beginning to feel guilt about what she's doing. Since I'd like to explain a few things, here we go, I'll keep it as brief as my overly dramatic self allows.

Basically, nations don't really feel bad about killing anymore, as they have numbed themselves over the years to it's effects through the course of countless battles and wars. But since they were once humans, bound to the land somehow when it was divided by the various races of people who settled there (My own inane theory), they still have guilt in the back of their minds about what they're doing. And since Belarus isn't a nation in this world, she's getting it back. But because she isn't the nation Belarus anymore, she doesn't have the guilt of all the people Belarusians have killed in the past, just the ones she has now. Let's see how much guilt she collects in the rest of the games (Evil mind, so watch out.)...

Also, she's not fully human yet. The thing the Capitol did to her was simply to stop her regenerative healing abilities and immortality, not so much how her physical abilities are slightly enhanced due to centuries of military training, much resistance she has to certain things... But eventually even that resistance will disappear.

**DISCLAIMER: We all know what this means, but for the sake of my sanity, South Korea, Axis Powers Hetalia and The Hunger Games DID NOT ORIGINATE IN YOU (Da-ze)!**

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My eyes snapped open, and I lay very still, my heart beating so loud, I was surprised the hidden cameras that were surely watching me right now didn't hear it.

I could see, from my slightly obscured view from the top of the boulder cave (I had decided to sleep up there instead of in the cave, it would allow me an easier way to escape if someone came along, and after all, it was pretty clear out.) that the rosy light of the morning was fading into a pale blue. So I had just missed the sunrise. Wouldn't that make it... around seven in the morning?

Never mind the time. I could still feel the hot, warm breath of the bear on my body, this time down on my leg. I tried to remain absolutely still, maybe the bear would go away.

_ Bear, bear, go away. Let me live another day._

I stayed absolutely motionless, the sound of my heartbeat, rapid and unsteady being the only thing to comfort me from the huge animal that was right next to me.

I don't know how much time had passed, but I opened my eyes again and the sky was still covered in dark clouds, with a pale cerulean background breaking through in a few places. So it was later morning now. I must have fallen asleep. _God help me, I'm turning into Greece. _

I stayed very still, and listened for the telltale sounds of the bear's movements. I heard scuffling down below, and wondered if that was it.

The scent of musk and raw meat flowed into my nose, and I dared to crawl over to the edge of my boulder perch, to look down.

To be honest, I wasn't expecting this. A tiny little bear cub, ebony with a dark cinnamon muzzle, was playing with a piece of what looked like a bone. It was very fluffy, and let out little grunts as it pushed the piece of bone around.

I wondered if it was the one sniffing me earlier.

It looked fairly harmless. I doubted that this little fuzz ball (Around the size of a toy poodle) would hurt me, and it looked like your average, run-of-the-mill black bear cub.

But of course there had to be a catch, this was, after all, the Hunger Games. Where every cute little thing could be vicious and malicious.

I inched carefully down from my perch on the boulder, and felt my leather boots hit the ground, with the slightest _thud_.

The little bear's ears pricked and it paused torturing the bone, and turned towards me, with bright eyes that were small, dark red berries that glinted in the light.

It cocked it's head to the side and made a puzzled little grunt. Then, as I prepared for it to suddenly reveal gigantic claws or spikes or something and come running at me, it didn't. It just continued pawing at the bone.

I somehow had this feeling in my gut that something would go wrong if I stayed with the bear cub, though I wasn't sure what it was. I turned to leave my little sanctuary. It was nice while it lasted. At least I had food and a full canteen of water, though I doubted I'd be so lucky to find another pond and would have to head out to the lake. So much for staying away from big bodies of water where enemies lurked.

Then of course, I heard a low growling come from behind me, and a large dark shadow appear in front of me, completely covering my own.

It hit me then. _Duh_. Why hadn't I thought of the little problem with a bear cub in my camp.

I knew better then to slowly turn around to see what was there. I already knew. Mom was back, and I was in big trouble.

So, I did the wisest thing anyone could do in this situation.

I ran like hell.

_ Crap. Crap crap crap crapity crap crap! _

I heard the thundering roar behind me, the sounds of the she-bear's massive paws pounding the ground as she followed me.

_Maybe if I change my direction, she will get confused and stop chasing me,_ I thought.

And I did just that. I zigged, I zagged. I circled back around and ran back the way I came, then took off in random directions. I didn't care where I ended up at that point, just that the bear would leave me alone. Why was she still chasing me? It wasn't like I was remotely near her cub at this point. Well, I had to give her points for determination.

At some point, the sound of the bear's berserker rage dwindled, but I didn't take any chances. Probably just a kink, but personally I'd prefer not to get sneak attacked by a ninja bear. I leaped over a fallen log, and see the cobalt image of the lake in the distance, not too far away. I ran into a sort of clearing, with a single tall tree in my sights.

Somehow, two of my arrows got into each hand, and I made a running leap at the tree, not slowing or stopping my pace. I launched myself into the air, a yard or so from the tree, and landed around five feet up, the arrows with their serrated points dug deeply into the bark. My boots scrambled to find a hold, then I begun to scale the massive tree.

It was at least two hundred feet tall, with large, sturdy branches around halfway up, so it took me a while to climb to the higher ones. But being a bit paranoid, I went higher. Up to a crotch in between two branches, where it wasn't easy to knock me down, or for someone to shoot something at me. I hoped the large, broad green leaves covered me from anyone nearby.

A few minutes passed, and there was nothing. Not a sound, except for the leaves whispering in the trees, like how the nations gossiped at conferences when they were supposed to be working. Probably betting on how I would die: Death by Fall, Death by Angry Mom, Death by Tribute, Death by Random Psycho Tree Suddenly Attacking.

Let me be honest, all the options sucked.

I heard the thundering pound of gigantic paws slapping against the forest floor, and hurriedly unzipped my backpack, hoping there would be something I could use to chase her off. I could have killed her, but I would probably feel guilty about orphaning a bear cub. I doubted that a blanket, a couple extra katniss bulbs, half the barracuda from yesterday, a box of matches, a red fruit that looks like a cherry on steroids, a first aid kit or a canteen of water would be of much use. Unless I wanted to play bullfighter with her, feed her, heal her, or set the forest on fire of course. Wait, there was one final thing. I pulled from the bottom of the bag that small vial of strange electric blue liquid that I had forgotten about a while back.

I had no clue what it was for, but it was better then nothing. I uncapped it, and an extremely foul scent wafted into my nose. I immediately shoved the stopper back in, and stared at the mysterious contents. It smelled exactly like those scones that England tried to force feed a lot of the nations at every world conference I had attended.

I jumped, almost losing my perch on the branch, around a hundred fifty feet up, when I felt the tree shake.

I looked down, and saw my dear friend Mrs. Bear scaling it, her gigantic, curved claws gleaming in a patch of sunlight on the tree's dark brown bark. I immediately tensed my fingers on the stopper of the mysterious liquid. I needed her closer.

She climbed the tree with ease, soon up to the hundred foot mark, where the largest branches were, only a few bear-lengths away from where I was.

I made a mental note, something one of America's people said, "_Don't drop it until you can see the whites of her eyes." _Did bears even have whites in their eyes?

I stared as she climbed to the nearest branch below me, and rose up to her powerful hind legs, showing muscles that rippled in the dappled sunlight the leaves provided.

I watched the she-bear's maw open, a long slender pink tongue darting out, with massive ivory fangs that glistened with silvery threads of saliva. Her eyes were bugging out, and there was something unnatural about how they had fixated on me. Sort of like how a rabid wolf attacks, not caring about it's own safety, just about the death of whomever it targeted. A blast of hot breath that smelled suspiciously like meat blew into my face as she roared, the silver strands of saliva trembling.

Taking no more time to wait, I pulled the cork from the vial and poured the foul smelling blue liquid onto her face. It was in her eyes, on her nose, in her mouth.

The bear screamed and shook her head wildly, sending streaks of the blue mystery liquid flying around, painting some of the surrounding leaves a bright neon blue. Then it simply took a step back on it's hind legs, and fell one hundred and forty feet to the ground, hitting the ground with a loud _thunk_.

Ouch.

Nonetheless, the bear was fine, and she ran off screaming in the direction of the lake, presumably to wash the disgusting stuff off her face.

I stared at the now empty glass vial. It probably wasn't safe to reuse it, whatever it was, so I threw it off in the direction of the bear.

In spite of what could have just happened, I couldn't help but smile. "Who knew England's scones came in such handy?" I muttered out loud, a soft chuckle escaping my lips.

My good mood was short lived however. Judging by the high pitched screams coming from the direction of the lake, Mama Bear wasn't the only one there. And boy, was she pissed.

From the direction of the lake, roughly a minute later, a cannon went off.

Poor kid.

The last thing they ever smelled was the putrid odor of England's scones.

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I don't know how long I stayed up in that tree, dozing, but judging by the position of the sun after I last looked up, it was afternoon now.

I leaned back against the tree trunk on my sturdy branch and took another swig of my canteen. So far no one had tried to kill me today, tributes that is. Which was great.

But of course, something had to come along to spoil my mood.

I heard him before I saw him.

The sound of feet flying across the forest floor, with the soft padding sound of many paws behind him, more lightweight then the bear.

He broke into the clearing, and I saw it was the boy with the sais from before, his shaggy black hair shook out of his dark brown eyes.

He must have decided that my tree was an ideal place to be at the moment, and used the sais to begin scaling it.

I immediately tensed, and got ready to attack him, but something stopped me. He was scared of something, judging by the ragged breath he emitted, how when he got to the lowest branches, still a hundred feet up, how he stopped, obviously exhausted. How when he looked up and saw me, he didn't seem alarmed or scared, of me that is.

I wondered, what was it that had this boy so scared? Of course, the universe was kind enough to answer me with a chorus of low, ominous growls.

A pair of massive tan creatures that looked like a cross between a dog and a wolf, each around the size of a horse, entered the clearing. Their honey golden eyes gleamed and their long ivory fangs, each at least an inch long, glistened in the shady light of the forest floor. Their powerful dark brown claws gripped the ground tightly.

The two massive creatures began throwing themselves at the tree, causing it to shake and tremble violently, making me cling to the trunk just to stay on.

What was this, Mutant Monster Day?


	6. Deadly Calm

Okay... Chapter 6 is here, as hoped for. Sorry, I haven't been updating as much as I would have liked. School's back in the picture... And I'm also doing another fanfic at the same time, but it doesn't mean I've abandoned either, should one get updated and not the other.

Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'd like to get going.

**DISCLAIMER: {Insert generic and sometimes witty banter here}**

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I stared at the boy. He wasn't trying anything yet, but I was sure that I couldn't let my guard down, not with the tree shaking like this, not with someone who tried so hard to kill me earlier sitting right next to me.

The tree trembled beneath me, and I skidded slightly on the rough bark, gripping it more tightly. At the rate the dog creatures were going, either we were going to fall out of the tree, or the tree was going to fall with us. Either way, it led up to a rather unhappy end.

My attention fixated once again on the boy. His shaggy black hair covered his dark gray eyes, but I knew he was planning something. He had tried to kill me before, in the bloodbath a day ago. Why would he stop now? After all, it was obvious that the creatures wanted something to eat.

And since we're in a game where the last teenager standing wins, I couldn't take any chances. He turned and looked over towards me, dark gray meeting sapphire blue as our eyes locked.

The boy studied me carefully, and I took note that the silver colored sais were sheathed in his belt, easily within reach.

I coiled myself like a snake poised to strike, gripping the shaking branch in one hand and my stone dagger in the other, the silver wire wrapped around my wrist.

It wasn't a matter of whether he would kill me, but when.

I knew he could easily stab me with his sais, but it would be far easier to push me off the branch, and let the dog creatures feed. After all, it wouldn't endanger him as much as lunging forward and attempting to stab me, when he knew I had the bow and arrows.

I saw a smirk appear on his face. He must have thought I was unarmed, after all, if I took the time to prepare my bow and arrow, he'd easily push me off, or I'd fall, unbalanced by the dogs' attack of the tree. He probably didn't think my stone knife could do much harm.

The tree shook with a tremor stronger then before, and I clung to the branch with both hands this time, balancing precariously on the thinner end of the branch then my treed companion. My knife was still in my hand, but I ignored it and concentrated on not falling to my death.

It was at that moment, that the boy lunged.

I was caught by surprise, though I had been preparing for this, I definitely wasn't expecting him to attack me when the tree had another violent shaking by the creatures below us. I realized that I had skidded off of the edge of the branch, and grabbed the boy's shirt, yanking at him, hoping I'd stabilize but knowing I wouldn't. The least I could do was take him with me.

I braced for impact and a blur of teeth and sandy fur, as I saw the tree branch get smaller and smaller from my view.

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The nations watched, spellbound in front of the television, beer (And a stolen McDonald's Happy Meal which America was pleased to have poled up) in hand.

Considering the fact that everyone was far too drunk to be able to recount this properly, I'll take over here.

As for what happened in the meantime, Spain and Denmark decided to attempt to throw their axes the way the small girl did, betting each other their axe's weight in beer (or tomatoes for Spain) should they throw further (Though there wasn't a scale in the room) but succeeded in almost beheading a good part of Europe. They forgot about this shortly by singing one thousand bottles of beer on the wall. Poland demanded it be changed to 'Wodka' and refused to play, so it sort of died down around twelve bottles.

All they knew was that Belarus had reappeared on the screen the following morning, with a bear. She stayed still for some reason, though some of the nations found it rather stupid, and strangely, the bear didn't kill her right then.

It was when she got up that it appeared again and chased her. She sprinted like a retreating Italian.

Then of course, there was a convenient cut to somewhere else. Some kid cooking what looked like part of a bat on a spit.

Which infuriated the nations to the point where even Lichtenstein uttered the deplorable word (How the hell did she get into the beer? Switzerland, we need to talk about your little sister.).

Then Switzerland tried to strangle Romano (Oh look, he's getting sober!), who most likely taught it to her. Spain didn't agree with the manhandling of his little buddy (As much as Romano tries to deny it), and before they knew it, a full out fist fight broke out between the two nations with Romano hiding under a table and a couple bets taking place on the winner (Meaningless because no one could leave the room anyway so no one would end up with money.).

Five bottles of beer on the wall (And an angry German freaking out) later, everyone was calm.

And they (Finally) got back to Belarus, stuck in a tree with the bear coming. She used that strange blue liquid that everyone forgot about on it, and England was rather insulted that it may have smelled like scone, according to the female nation's words. No one was surprised.

At any rate, the bear went charging off into the forest towards the lake, and surprised the two harpoon carrying teenagers at the water's edge. It tore a hole right through the girl, and a cannon exploded somewhere. The boy was running off by the time it attacked her, supposedly abandoning his alliance to save his own butt.

Some of the more... backstabbing (For lack of better wording) nations found him to be very smart.

Everyone else cursed him. England literally did, and America thought he was doing that Halloween party thing again... Apparently it worked, because the boy tripped over a tree root and now had a foot that was twisted backwards.

Then they cut to a few other places.

There was a beautiful girl with a large sophisticated (And expensive) looking gun (Which apparently fell from the sky in a cute little silver parachute) and another with a handful of throwing stars (that Japan stated were similar to his own design) agreeing to team up. The murderous glint in the gun girl's copper eyes told the audience that she wasn't to be trusted, that if you turned your back even for a split second, she'd stab you in the back without thinking twice and feel absolutely no guilt or remorse about what she did. But it obviously didn't get past the other, and a compromise was made. Things were getting tougher for the remaining teenagers.

A strong boy with a big sword wandered around near the starting point where the mines went off. He was probably the biggest one left.

Various kids all over the place had fires started.

The smaller built ones, who looked so similar they were thought to be brother and sister with their tangled black hair and bright green eyes, were walking along the edge of a meadow with gold and green grass that waved like a galloping horse's mane, and towered several feet over their heads. The boy, around sixteen, give or take a year, was unarmed, whereas his smaller sister had a pair of small axes that were great for throwing, and also clearing paths much like a machete, as they were doing right now. Several nations made note of how they looked, for some inventing when they got back.

There was another boy with shaggy dark hair and a pair of sais in his belt following them, and a few minutes later, something-or rather two somethings- rippled in the grass next to the boy and girl.

All the remaining color drained from the sai boy's face as he looked nervously ahead, poised to flee, as did the sixteen year old boy. But the girl, around thirteen and as dainty and small as Lichtenstein, walked calmly forward and whispered something in a soothing, near silent voice, placing her weapons on the ground and holding her small hands out, palms outstretched to the cause of the ripples, invisible to the cameras.

She looked at the hidden things, then turned to where the sai boy was crouched, his face barely visible to the girl and her brother.

The elder of the siblings moved aside, after she whispered something to him.

Less then a minute later, the sai boy was running for his life from two horse-sized wild animals that looked like a cross between a wolf and a German shepherd. Their massive claws kicked up tiny clumps of earth, sandy bodies a blur with the speed of their movement, honey eyes gleaming and ivory fangs, at least an inch long each, glistening with silvery strands of saliva that flew back as they moved, their salmon tongues lolling out of their massive maws.

Then there was yet another break from the action, which made Denmark throw an empty beer bottle at the wall in annoyance.

Five minutes of berry picking, unsuccessful snares, aimless wandering, cooking, and the surviving harpoon kid nursing his foot (By this of course we mean grimacing in pain and lying around, waiting for help that would probably never come.) later...

They were back to Belarus in the tree, the sai boy climbing it as well, the dog-things on his tail (My my, what a pun). He made it to the branch where the female nation was perched, and the two stared at each other for a bit, as if sizing each other up for a fight. The dogs grew impatient and decided to bring them down, causing Belarus, who was on the thinner part of the branch, to tangle her arms around a branch.

The suspense was killing them.

And then, it was broken by the boy rushing forward and pushing her off, Belarus grabbing his torn and filthy navy shirt and dragging him with her.

Time seemed to slow, or perhaps it was slow motion on the programmer's part, but the moments in which they fell seemed to last for eons, shattered by a single, sickening _crunch_, and dust puffed up to cover whomever fell to their death. Then the dust cleared.

A cannon sounded.

A majority of the nations' eyes bugged out of their heads. Except Norway, who raised an eyebrow at what everyone else was missing, a smirk appearing on his face.

He hadn't noticed it before, but everything seemed to have connected now.

The camera zoomed in on Belarus, dangling supposedly in midair from one hand, and the boy's crumpled body on the ground below, the dogs closing in with human-like smirks on their faces, their tongues sweeping across their wet black lips.

The camera changed to an angle on the female nation, and panned upwards to her arm, clothed in a leather jacket, then her hand, and zoomed in.

A chorus of "Ah's" echoed through the room.

The camera focused on her hand, gripped around an obsidian knife she had hand crafted, and the thin, silvery, almost invisible cable wrapped around her wrist, tangled in her knife, and reaching upward into the tree, to the branch she had grabbed.

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I didn't dare look down, just up at my wrist, and the tree. I knew from the disturbing crunches and tearing sounds that the dogs were disassembling his carcass.

It was only a matter of time before they looked up, and saw me.

I decided not to wait like a fly suspended in a spider web, and swung around a bit, wrapping my other hand in the thin cable and using it like a swing.

Back and forth, back and forth. I hoped to get it loose enough to break free, and gain a bit of distance from the dogs while I was at it. Maybe if I was lucky I would land a little ways away, and get a head start.

I saw I was gaining distance, and length from the cable. Every swing I made went across the clearing and back, at least an inch of the cable gaining back with every push and pull.

Finally, when I felt heavier, and took a lot more effort to get to the other side, the wire came loose and I was propelled into the forest, landing in a bush rather ungracefully.

The sudden sight of movement must have surprised the dogs, and I saw them look up with curious, bloodstained faces, and begin following me.

I stumbled to my feet, and took off running. The crown of twigs and leaves in my hair was falling off as I went.

An exposed tree root not far ahead caught my attention, and I leaped above it, noticing the District 4 boy with a twisted foot looking surprised up at me.

I didn't stop to have a friendly chat with him however, he still had his harpoon, so he still posed some form of threat, though he didn't look like he'd be going anywhere anytime soon, and I was still being chased, but as I ran at the fastest speed I could find, I heard the dogs' barking fade from behind me. And the screams of agony of another tribute.

As I sprinted off deeper into the woods, a cannon went off, and all was silent.

I decided to keep going. I didn't know how long this wilderness lasted, but there had to be an end to it, right? And if it were, I could easily just walk away from it all and let things take their course out here. It wasn't really my problem what happened out here.

_What if there was no end to this place?_ An annoying voice in the back of my head nagged at me. It had been there for a while, since I was shattered by the World Wars, and by the Chernobyl reactor accidents. It had gone away for a little while, but look who's back.

_What if you're going to be trapped here forever? _

_ Think about it, you haven't been in or heard of such a thing as the Hunger Games before, nonetheless a nation called Panem. _

_ And since they stripped you of your ability as a nation, do you really think you're going to stand a chance out here? You may have centuries of military experience on your side, but you're not a match for this terrain. You've never encountered such things before. _

_ Face it, you're going to die out here._

_ And the most entertaining part out of all of this: no one will care._

_ No one from Panem will care if you die, the people who brought you here made you represent the Capitol, and everyone hates the Capitol. And it's not as if any of the nations back where you came from would care if you disappear off the face of the earth._

_ Think, you're that crazy knife-wielding psychopath incest bitch who's resources can be found anywhere else and is only valued because she has a pretty face. They think nothing more of you. They'll probably be jumping at the chance to gain some extra territory._

_ But wait, if you're not a personification anymore, then the country Belarus will still exist after you're gone, but you won't. And think of how easy you're making it for your dictator._

_ Also, I believe it's worth mentioning that you haven't said a word in Belarusian nor Russian, or referenced your culture or your homeland since you arrived here. Does that mean you're losing your identity as part of an ethnic group as well?_

_ And if you're not the country Belarus, nor Natalya Arlovskaya the diplomat, then who are you?Never mind, tt doesn't matter anyway. _

_ It's not like you'll be alive long enough to figure yourself out._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up..." I muttered, shaking my head. I couldn't admit to myself that any of this was true, even though my pride was long gone. I had to keep my hopes up, that would be just as crucial to my life as survival skills were. If I lost the will to live, then I may as well go jump off the nearest cliff, or go off and give the octopus-plant-whatever in the lake a hug.

I looked up at my surroundings, and realized just how much time had passed. The sun was sinking low in the sky. In less then an hour, it would be gone. My body was numb from exhaustion, and I guessed I had been walking for hours.

I tasted my dry, chapped lips and pulled out my canteen. To my relief, it was mostly full, and I took a small sip, deciding to conserve the water I had until I could refill it, at who knows where.

I decided I would keep walking until the sun was gone fully and it was truly night time.

That would give me around half an hour.

I watched the foliage all around me warily, prepared for something to jump out and rip my head off. I noticed there were many pine trees around. If what I had remembered in that edible plants class was correct, you could eat pine bark... Or something like that.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, and a grayish light descended on the world. I was in a world of shadows. One where I fit in.

I noticed the ground was dipping slightly as I walked forward. Perhaps I was coming across a pond or something. Maybe I had walked a full circle around and was back at the lake.

No, that couldn't be. I had only went in a straight line from when the dog monster things chased me.

But something in my mind made it clear as I heard the distant trickling sound of water babbling over rocks.

I had found water.

I sprinted forward, all my negative thoughts forgotten, and came across a little stream that fell over a bunch of boulders to a small pond below. A fox that was drinking from the pond looked up at me with large amber eyes, it's whiskers still dripping with the water, and with a flick of it's russet tail, it disappeared into the shadows of the fading twilight.

I smiled as I saw it vanish. The fact that the fox was here meant that it was safe for animals to drink, and therefore me. It also meant that animals regularly visited this watering-hole-creek-thing, which meant something other then the katniss bulbs and part of the fish I had in my backpack. I wanted fresh meat.

With the thought of the meat fresh in my mind, I unloaded my backpack and pulled out my blanket, spreading the black fabric, barely enough to cover my body, out on the ground. I dug a small hole with my hands, more wide then deep, and collected a few damp stones from the water's edge. I placed them around the edge and went just into the tree line with my dagger to find some wood, as well as taking some pine tree bark back to eat with.

My expedition was fruitful, and I returned with a few decent sized pieces of branch that I had taken from a large tree a minute or so away. I gnawed on a small part of the piece of the bark I had taken as well, much like a piece of gum.

I patiently built the fire, arranging the logs the way I had remembered long ago, and pulled out the little box of matches. I lit one and placed it inside, a minute passing before the golden flame appeared and created a source of warmth for myself.

I could see the luminous eyes of the fox watching me from the edge of the clearing. I could see it was fixated on the piece of fish that I had caught two days before. I smiled, and took the fish and placed it on a rock between the fire and the water hole, in plain sight, dropping the silver cable as I did so, much of it unrolling around and on top of the fish, the rest rolling off towards the trees.

I rolled my eyes and snorted at my clumsy blunder that was no doubt being televised across who knows where. I went over to retrieve the coil of cable from the edge of the trees, watching the fish from the corner of my eyes as I bent down to pick it up where I found it stopped against the trunk of a tree, slowed by a soft carpet of dead pine needles. I pulled it back around my wrist and begun to rewind it, making my way back to my campsite.

I saw only a streak of russet in the corner of my eyes next to where the fish was before I tugged the part of the wire that was in my hand taut. I could feel the sudden tenseness of the wire all the way over to where the fox was delicately stepping around my latticework of wire to the fish, where as it picked the meat up in it's tapering snout, sensitive wires flew up around it's paws and nose and it let out a surprised whimper.

I rewound the wire casually as I made my way back, giving a knowing smile to the fox, who had obviously disobeyed the rules of the spider web: the more you struggle, the more you're stuck. Such was the case, he was on the ground with several lengths of cable wrapped around himself.

"Well now, fox." I said to it as I knelt down and looked at it. "It seems you were stealing from me. What with the rather limited information those strange people have graciously given me, I know a bit about the laws that govern Panem. And among these laws is this fact: stealing is punishable by death. Sorry, but I don't make the rules, while I'm here, I live by them. However cruel they can be."

My little speech done, I pulled my obsidian dagger out of the loop on my belt where I kept it, the silver coil still attached through the hole, and held it against the fox's throat.

"See you in hell."

With that, I made a quick slice across the fox's throat, and I saw the mischievous light fade from it's yellow eyes.

I finished rewinding my coil, and returned it to my left wrist.

Then, I begun skinning the fox. It would provide me both with food and perhaps a pair of gloves if I was skilled enough. I found out that it was still holding the fish in it's mouth._ Little glutton held on till the end_, I thought. I also made plans to sharpen my knife with some of the stones in the watering hole.

Perhaps an hour passed before I was done. Finally, I stepped back and admired my work.

A fire was burning with pieces of fox and fish in a sort of spit, that I would rotate now and then. A piece of a bone I had broken off with a big rock I found near the edge of the stream had some of the thread that came off of my navy blue shirt was put to work sewing up the washed fox skin, which I had divided into several pieces, the hair removed so I just had a sort of leather-like material. I was making the gloves, so I'd be able to reach into thorn bushes easier, hold my knife without as much aching in my left hand, and do a bit more near the fire. It was going well so far, and it had taken a while to cut the leather in such a way.

I finally realized that the moon was high, yet another time-lapsed hour later when I had one of my gloves done, and the meat cooked, placed just inside my opened backpack so that any curious animals would have to get really close to find it.

I grudgingly decided to get some sleep, seeing tiny wisps of smoke off in the distance, other surviving tributes who had decided to make camp for the night. It seemed to be an unofficial agreement everyone had made, not to hunt each other at night.

It made me feel a bit safer, though I believed no one would be out as far as I was.

I begun to drift off to sleep, gnawing the pine bark as I wanted the meat to last as long as possible, when of course out of freaking nowhere the supposed anthem of this blasted country blares down from the sky and I see the seal of the Capitol, which I suppose is supposed to be the flag of this country, illuminated in some invisible screen in the sky.

One annoying minute later, a number two appeared in the sky, followed by the boy with the shaggy hair and the gray eyes. Sai boy was from Two, which meant that both from One were alive. A few moments passed, and a big four appeared in the sky, followed by the pictures of both the harpoon kids. Evidently they had been picked off by the bear and the wild dogs today.

Then the anthem blared, the seal appeared and I was left in silence, before the crickets and night creatures continued their song.

That was that. Another District was gone, this time a supposed 'Career' district, as well as another Career. All because of a bear, two wild dog animals and me. Had I not thrown that liquid, had I not ran in that direction, had I not grabbed him they would both be alive. I was to blame. And I would get punished by the other tributes for what I had done.

But no.

It wasn't my fault that the boy from 4 died. I couldn't have known that he was there. And it was the sai boy's fault that he was next. I wouldn't have killed him if he hadn't made the first move. Maybe we could come to a truce should we get out alive. And I didn't know the bear would go kill the girl. I just thought it would go away.

I shook my head and curled up in my blanket, shivering slightly, hoping morning would come and the thoughts would be gone.

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I woke up from a dreamless sleep to the sound of something splashing in the water nearby.

My eyes fluttered open, and were overwhelmed for a moment by the brightness of the sun and the reflection off the water.

I adjusted my vision and my pupils dilated, sitting up as I did so.

I saw only the sleek figure of an otter's tail disappearing fluidly into the forest as I got up.

What a charming thing to wake up to. An otter's butt.

Better then a murderous grin and the blade of a sword.

Nonetheless, I gnawed on another piece of pine bark and got to work finishing my other glove, the project surprisingly taking up nearly all the fox leather. It was a small fox after all, it wasn't like I have huge hands.

I was finished an hour or so later, judging by the position of the sun, and I decided instead of running around killing things that I would spend today resting and regaining my strength, catching up on a few things.

I stored the extra scraps of leather in my bag, and decided to sharpen my knife, as it was getting harder to slice things with it.

I pulled off my boots and waded into the water with my socks, finding it surprisingly and comfortably warm. I stepped around in the water a bit, rolling my pants up to my knees, enjoying the comfort it brought me, the energy it restored into my fatigued limbs.

Then I felt something sharp hit my foot and I recoiled, reaching my arms in and feeling around, finding a sharp rock that would do for sharpening and shaping my dagger.

I returned to shore and spent ages aside the fire, gnawing on pine bark (I've gotten to be paranoid about my food supply. As long as I don't have to go anywhere and I have an ample supply available, I'll go with the abundant stuff and save the special stuff for when I need it) and sipping from my canteen, while I sharpened the edge of the knife.

When I hit another soft spot in the stone, my sharpening rock sloped downward, and then continued on it's usual route after I slid it out of the little indentation it made, a sort of serrated edge.

Wait...

I continued making more serrated edges, none as deep as the one I had accidentally made of course, but still quite sharp. I remembered the teeth of the shark, and copied that, how the serrated edges allowed it to get a grip on it's prey. Now I'd be able to saw and cut easily with one side, and slice with the other.

I placed the sharpening stone into my backpack with the freshly sharpened knife in my belt once more, and spent more time with my feet in the water, soaking up the warmth and restoring feeling to my fatigued self. It was far too warm to occur because of the sun, so I guessed there was a sort of natural hot spring that came from below ground and spouted up here.

I stared at my socked feet, at my lower legs with the dirt and sweat dried on them, how they were cleaning easily, and decided to do the same with my face. I doubted any of the nations, should they be watching which I doubted, would recognize me with all this grime. I gathered a bit of the warm water in my hands and rubbed it on my cheek, seeing a slight brownish gray smudge come off on my hands.

I gazed down at my somewhat distorted reflection in the pool.

The girl that looked up at me was one I thought was me, but wasn't totally sure.

Her pale white skin was now streaked with grime, dried blood spatters here and there, belonging to both me and my enemies. Her hair, that used to be a pale silky silver was now streaked with brown, and tangled here and there. Her eyes looked without the false icy pride that Belarus had, but the look of an inquisitive animal. One that was curious about what it was seeing, but a bit scared and uncertain too. It wasn't a face I had ever seen before.

But I knew it was me. The only thing that distinguished me from all the other tributes in terms of clothing was still perched on my head, a bit out of place, and somewhat bedraggled. A white hair ribbon with a few streaks of dirt.

I took more water in my cupped hands and rubbed it into my face, erasing some of the grimy streaks that changed my appearance.

I removed myself from the spring, realizing that it was late afternoon and packed my bag, deciding to leave in the morning for somewhere else (It was never too safe to stay in the same place for too long) grabbing a bite of the fish I had forgotten about earlier. It filled me with even more energy, and I decided to finish it off.

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The nations watched, confused and rather bored.

Nothing was happening.

Should they be scared, or glad.

If they were scared, the part in their minds telling them it was leading up to something disturbing was dominant.

If it was the part that was glad, it told them that no one was going to die today.

But there was also the nagging feeling like something was going to happen...

Something bad.

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I made camp further away from the water hole since it was twilight again, a bit inside the tree line, under a pine tree's sheltering boughs.

I felt a slightly empty container echo when it hit against my side, and I realized that I had forgotten to refill my canteen.

I trekked the five minute walk back to the water hole, and bent down to fill it up when I noticed the water was draining.

I put the canteen, opening facing where the water was rushing in, filling it to the brim and closing it, once again returning it to my backpack.

When I turned back to the watering hole, I was surprised to see it was dry. How could water go somewhere so fast, yet leave a bone dry bottom?

I stared at the now barren hole, and noticed a sort of crack in the middle.

Curious, I approached it, and stared down into the darkness, straining my eyes in the darkening night.

Then I heard the bubbling sound.

I instinctively backed away, and just as I reached the trees, the ground erupted in a shaking roar. Pine cones were knocked from trees, bird nests fell to the ground, their parents exploding into the sky and flying away. Animals I hadn't noticed, a flock of deer and a skunk, were fleeing in the opposite direction of where I was facing.

Wait a second.

I turned my head back to the crater left behind, and my eyes widened.

The crack was getting bigger, and something was glowing inside.

As I took a step back and poised myself to run, I heard a loud _boom_, and the temperature increased tenfold as a spurt of bright orange and yellow liquid-like substance exploded from the crack, jetting upwards like a geyser, black smoke appearing from where it touched the sky. As the first drops hit the ground, not a yard from where I was froze, I could see a flame appear and dance it's way up to devour the trees near it. Within moments, the two trees it was between were on fire.

I heard another deep rumbling sound from beneath the earth and I took in a sharp intake of breath and begun running as fast as I could.

That strange liquid was lava.


	7. Into The Inferno

Okay... Chapter 7 is here, finally. Sorry, I haven't been updating as much as I would have liked. I've decided that S&S will be on semi-hiatus until I finish TKAM, and thus this is my priority, when I'm stuck, S&S will be updated. But both will be finished at some point, so I haven't abandoned anything, nor will I.

So yeah, we're cutting down on the tributes, and these Games may be over quickly. Just a word of warning, so maybe that those who aren't familiar with my fill-in-the-blank writing style, I'd like you to try to guess what's happening, but here are a few things that have been mentioned previously, that are relevant to the future:

The mysterious thing that inconveniences many players is the fact that there are no knives.

The Careers aren't in one big pack, which usually happens in the Games, many are already dead.

One tribute has friends in high places.

Another can ensure the safety of their ally through an empathic connection with a dangerous wild creature.

There's also something in the possession of one of the tributes that can ensure they win, or die, depending on how they use it, or who they tell about it. We all know who this tribute is, but can you guess what it is that's so important?

Belarus (and the watching nations) doesn't know the rules of the games, that sponsors give you medicine, food and weapons, that there are interviews and announcements. Or that there is no way out.

Oh one final thing, the little hints being dropped in the arena in the Cornucopia aren't authorized by the Capital. Fire is catching again.

Shall we begin?

**DISCLAIMER: {If you don't already understand that these two things aren't owned by me, please inform your village that it's not missing it's idiot. Speaking of which, everyone in my class had a poll, and I was voted "Most Likely to Create a Dictatorship of Evil" and "Most Likely to Become the Village Idiot. Both of which are very true.}**

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Catalia Aurelius shook her head as she watched the commercials play. _Why didn't they just come out and show what was happening?_ she thought as she pushed a button on the wall in the lush suite she lived in.

A buzzing sound blared for a second, then there was a voice.

"Yeah? This is Mauritia. Oh, and Amarasia and Saia are here too." A scratchy voice she recognized as her friend came from the other end. "Oh, Cats, It's you."

"Yeah, it's me."

"What'cha callin' about?" The girl with her long silver hair and the red cat eyes asked from the other line, dressed in a crazy hat with a gray plume of feathers coming out of it, her blue jacket hanging loose over a white blouse and jabot. Her legs were propped up on a table, clothed in a short black skirt and thigh high boots.

"Your mom's a Gamemaker, right?"

"Yeah, the Head. And my dad is your dad's bodyguard. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking..." Catalia trailed off as she laid back on her head, her eyes on the mirror next to the intercom, staring with newfound disgust at her face and attire.

Now, the crazy purple and black outfit she was wearing looked ridiculous, gaudy even. Her raven colored hair with it's neon purple streaks was tied back into pigtails with silver bows tacky, her matching neon violet eyes as false and empty as ever, derived from the fire she had seen in the girl with the silver hair and sapphire eyes who was fighting for her life, looking back at her, surveying the silver rings on her fingers, the chokers and the chains she used as jewelry, which now seemed useless.

_Too late to change back,_ she decided in her head. _Not too late to change more. _

"Thinking?" She finally focused on the intercom voice.

"Does it seem right to you? That they have to die and starve while we get fat and get stupid meaningless surgery after surgery?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, but yeah. I feel really guilty about it now."

"Hey," Catalia defended her friend. "You made sure your personal servants were treated like your friends, you even stopped them from becoming Avoxes!"

"But I couldn't save the others." Her tone darkened with regret and suppressed sadness.

"You made a difference for the two you managed to get."

"Very well... What do you want, Cats?"

"Well... It's about the starving and dying and hurting. And the Hunger Games in general."

"And..."

"Perhaps we could start what the Mockingjay's Rebellion left off? As children of the highest Capitol officials, we have some connections. And I'm sure that the younger previous victors and their families could help us out, the older ones aren't really helpful, they're just alcoholics."

There was silence on the other end, then a buzzing sound.

Five minutes later, the door to Catalia's room opened.

In stepped a silver haired, red cat-eyed girl in flamboyant attire, followed by a pair of girls clad simply, one with short blond hair and bright green eyes, the other with long brown hair and darker green eyes. They all had devilish smirks on their faces.

"We're listening, President's daughter."

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Kumajiro watched nervously, grinding on his owner's- he just discovered the strange person's name was Canada- jacket.

Everyone was completely silent, absorbing everything on the screen.

It was disturbing, the fire exploding from a single wave of lava. How it flew after Belarus and only Belarus, wasn't she some sort of Russian country?

It acted like a rabid and starving wild animal, ravenous for whatever crossed it's path, not caring what it was, so long as it could be killed.

It had swept over the two kids that were in the chariot labeled '11', the gasoline bottle in the girl's hand igniting instantly, engulfing the two in a burst of light and flame that made him squint. When the smoke cleared, two cannons were shot, and a metal claw came and vacuumed ashes into it's tube, out of sight.

They cut to other places, to kids who ran into the lake, shallow enough to escape the vine monster, deep enough to evade the flames. The two siblings with the dark hair and green eyes who jumped into the pond where Belarus had camped earlier. The one that used to have bears. Like him.

Kumajiro finally caught sight of Belarus, running into the tall grass where another teenager (Wasn't he in the chariot labeled '8'?) was caught in the blaze.

It was strange how the fire circled the ash streaked boy, then finally, a few seconds later, rushed in and engulfed him in flames.

Almost like it was alive.

If you believed such things.

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I ran.

Faster and faster.

I had lost all feeling in my legs at this point, they were now in my eyes simply pieces of rubber with blocks of lead nailed to them.

But it didn't matter.

As the smoke flowed into my lungs and stung my eyes, as the sparks singed my hair inches shorter, as the flaming pine needles fell from the sky, barely missing my head, shielded by my leather coated arms, I ran.

There were distant crashes as trees fell, but none were near me, nor where I was headed, so it didn't matter.

All that did prove relevant anymore to me was simply to escape.

I had left the lava behind several miles ago, but the fire raced through the trees with me. I had followed the animals, panicked white-tailed deer, that bounded through the undergrowth effortlessly, but still with purpose. I envied their agility, _If only I could move like that._

But never mind that. The only thing important was my life at this point. I knew for certain that if I got burned I would not survive. Here, I was merely human, not a nation.

And that meant I could die here.

Oh well, not like I had anything to go home to.

If I called that place home anyway.

What made it my home after all? No one loved me for who I was, just for what I looked like (Ahem, Lithuania), and no one would really care if I died here.

But it would still be nice to come waltzing into the conference hall, perfectly fine, and seeing the expressions on their faces. I had a feeling they were watching me, probably betting on how long it would take to die. Wasn't that what they had done when Germany's Barbarossa took place?

But no.

I snapped my mind back into focus.

In the distance, two cannons sounded.

Shit.

_ Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, you know you can't._

_ Dream on, subconscious._

And I continued. The forest was just a haze to me, of dark smoke, gigantic orange and yellow flames, and the black outlines of trees that surrendered to their murderous rage.

Before long, I saw a place ahead in the gaps within the trees that weren't on fire yet, but would be in a matter of seconds, where there weren't any other trees. Just green-gold grass and nothing else.

_Maybe..._

It was where the deer were heading after all.

_Should I play it safe and assume they're leading me to a trap? That the Capital programmed them to do this?_

_ Or should I take a risk and run after them, they have an idea on what to do with this sort of scenario. Don't they?_

My feet decided for me as I streaked through the tall grass, pushing it aside quickly, not caring to make a path. All that mattered was to put distance between me and the inferno behind me.

The pounding of my feet against the ground, the grass flying in front of, around, and behind me, parting before my flailing arms. It wasn't as flammable as I had initially expected, it took the flames around ten seconds to lapse before moving forward, at a slower speed.

Thank whomever invented this type of grass.

Faster and faster. I adapted to running through this type of grass, quicker then I had hoped for.

Excellent.

Run, run run. Feet pounding the ground, kicking up small stones.

The rumbling sound of the flames behind me dwindled back, then started again.

Then, they slowed more. I didn't stop sprinting, they would start up again soon, like all the times they had slowed down. I wondered what it was that was an obstacle for the fire this time. A rock?

A cannon sounded.

Ah, a tribute.

Wait... Wouldn't normal fire just burn the tribute and keep raging? Not focus on one tribute, kill him or her and make sure they were dead, then move on.

Was the fire that was pursuing me... alive?

Now _that_ was ridiculous.

But still, with what I knew already, how they created animals just to kill teenagers, how they shaped this entire landscape as they did the people in their own city did to their bodies, adding whiskers, claws, dying themselves a completely new color every other day. I knew this because the blue man who helped (Pardon, forced) me with my clothing came in the next day, a pink that would make Poland swoon with jealousy, that made me squint just to look at him.

So judging by what I knew, yeah, the fire was alive. Probably invented by the nutjob who runs this freak show, just to add a little pizazz. Wouldn't want the audience to get bored of innocent children getting burned to death.

Then, a terrifying sound filled my ears. The fire was surging forward, consuming everything in it's path like some sort of behemoth monster, roaring towards me at twice the speed it did originally.

Adrenaline, from a seemingly never ending supply, coursed through my veins as I picked up speed and continued running.

_How big is this goddamn meadow?_

Suddenly, I took into account that there was an open area ahead, I could see from the tops of the grass, which was a bit shorter now. The land seemed to go on, the grass didn't, or perhaps the smoke was deceiving my vision.

But still, there had to be something ahead.

Another blast flew up from behind me, hot air sending me flying forward, unbalancing me to make me slow to keep standing.

I could feel the intense heat of the fire on my back, through my backpack which was singed and covered in a layer of ash.

I immediately shifted my feet and took off sprinting full speed at that clearing ahead. First the clearing, then freedom, I thought, hazily in my smoke-distorted mind.

But then I realized the price for the clearing, for escaping the fire.

But by then, it was too late.

All I knew was, I was running along a free, open stretch of nothing but super short grass, with flames close enough to reach up and touch me, and suddenly, my foot tapped a ridge of stone. And the ground vanished below me.

I hovered in the air for a moment, realizing with my sapphire eyes widening, standing out starkly against my gray and brown streaked face.

As I plummeted down, down down, I caught a glimpse of the moon, so bright, shrinking before me, the stars swirling around me.

The constellations that seemed familiar, yet not.

The fire licking the edge of the picture, the sparks flying out and vanishing like extra-luminescent fireflies.

Then rock, rock, rock as I slammed into a ridge that sloped sharply downwards, grinding into my body and finally a flash of deep red liquid in my vision as I hit the ground.

My vision blurred as I looked ahead, my head not moving when I told it to.

My backpack must have fallen off when I fell, the zipper undone and a single deep red fruit rolled out and stopped, inches from my mouth. The fruit was the exact same shade as my blood.

My dizzying vision drank in the sight of that fruit, that blood fruit as darkness flew in from the edges of my vision and claimed me.


	8. Rebirth

Okay... Chapter 8 is here, finally. Sorry, a lot has been going on lately. Not only is there school but a few original writing projects I'm pursuing on the side. Speaking of which, S&S is now officially on hiatus.

Remember that special live-or-die thing? It's a central part, which is why this is such a short chapter. And if you give me that 'Why is it that?' look, please note that it was inside the Cornucopia, in an alcove. Ergo, something special was going on.

Oh, you get three tries to get it right with this thing, so you can have one right off the bat, like she did, a second one if you have an ally (Though pretty much everyone in the arena except a few wouldn't)

Shall we start this up?

**DISCLAIMER: {We know what this means...}**

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My eyelids felt like tiny pieces of lead as I opened them, my vision blurred and distorted. My body was on fire with pain, but I decided to ignore it as I had many years before.

_Then and now aren't all that different,_ I reflected. _In both cases, I'm fighting for my life. In both cases, as was the usual, I was losing._

I made out a gray wall and ceiling beyond a big red thing right in front of my face. As my eyes adjusted, I recognized the sights to be the craggy cliff I had fallen off of, yes, there was the slope near the bottom that I skidded on; the sky, returned to the seamless gray it had been for quite a while, and the red object was that odd fruit I had pulled out from the Cornucopia at the beginning, and never seemed to use it.

I twitched my fingers, and as sharp pricks of pain shot through them, I couldn't help but let a small smile- more of a grimace really- escape my cracked lips. I could move, more then what had happened yesterday.

Had it been yesterday? I had no clue how much time had passed. It could have been one day, or five. Maybe a week was spent unconscious. It was a miracle that no one found me already. Maybe they did, but I must have looked dead to them. After all, who would take the time to kill something that was already dead?

And if my fingers worked by then, maybe some of, if not the rest of my body was able to move as well.

I decided to test this theory, curling my messily-constructed gloved fingers into the rock below me, and feeling my toes in the boots twitch into position as well.

I begun to heave myself up, attempting to ignore the fresh wave of pain that washed over me, from the inside this time, as the small cuts and bruises I had sustained didn't contribute much at this point, making the inside of my head throb. I was succeeding with my arms and torso, but when I went to pull myself to my feet, a sharp flash of agony sent me dropping to my belly, gasping at the ache, like I was on fire.

I turned my head back to look at what was causing my pain, my vision obstructed by my long pale silver hair, now blackened from the previous events that caused my current predicament, streaked with dirt and blood. I irritably shook it out of view.

_I swear, I will cut all of this off one day, _I decided. _Even the bow will go, _I added, seeing the ragged, formerly white piece of ribbon still attached to my head, the only thing that distinguished me from the rest of the teenagers in terms of attire. It used to be white, but now it was many different colors, a sort of record of my survival.

Blood from the teenagers I killed, the fox, and some of it mine. Probably a lot of it, judging by how much of the red liquid was drifting downwards from my head using my hair as a staircase. A sort of greenish liquid from that tentacle thing in the lake. The brown of dirt and soil that rubbed off, the deep charcoal gray of the ash and soot that told of the fire.

My head swam looking at it. Yes, soon, it would all be hacked off, and I wouldn't have to see it anymore. The bow reminded me of the world I came from, the jeers and cold glares the others gave me, the stares of confusion, disgust, pity, and fear directed at me over the centuries.

Since I was in a new place, with none of those looks to haunt me anymore, I guessed that it was wise that I become a new person. Not a nation, but a person. After all, I doubted that a nation would feel the pain I did now for long.

I shook my head and focused on what was ahead of me. Reminisces later, survival now.

Right.

I stared at my legs, my aching head wondering what it was that was obstructing me standing up, but then I saw it.

Massive burns covered my legs, exposing blackened and red flesh, the deep red liquid with the heavy aroma that had become all too familiar to me adorning some places. In one part of my leg, near my knee, a sharp, angular piece of white glistened with the dark liquid.

Apparently, the fall wasn't just affecting me internally, and according to the black skin, I hadn't totally escaped the fire either. I was a ticking time bomb. Who knew how long before my internal system caved in.

Well, this was a shitty start to what I was expecting to be a shitty day.

I pulled myself upwards so I was in a stance not unlike that of a sea lion's, and retrieved my backpack and the fruit, the former was behind a fallen rock about the size of my body, the latter in front of me, slinging it over my shoulder after placing the red fruit inside. Then, I dragged myself, lower body completely limp, to a rock overhead that jutted out above everything else, big enough so anyone above me wouldn't see, small enough so it wouldn't cave in on me.

I leaned back against the stone wall, my mind fuzzy, and pulled the canteen from my pack. A few sips soothed my burning throat a bit, but it didn't help the ferocious pain that raged inside my body. Only thousands of years of pain from being a nation kept me from screaming my head off. And besides, if I showed weakness, I would most likely be picked off, or laughed at by all the people watching me on live TV, probably the nations as well. The fire had gone, but the effects were devastating.

I couldn't move, I had little food, and I was being torn apart from the inside out.

Well, that sucked.

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_How long have I been out?_ I thought when my eyes opened again.

I had been dozing on and off for ages now, and it felt like the sun was sinking, though I couldn't see it from behind the thick, featureless clouds, dark as the smoke that obstructed the sky the last night I had been able to walk.

Each time I drifted away was longer, and each time I woke up, there was more pain then before. Throbbing, bleeding, bruises, burns, and the fuzziness in my head that couldn't be cured, no matter how much I drank or rested. I even tried to eat some of the leftover fox meat, but it hurt so much I just vomited it back up.

Now I'm realistic when it comes to desperate situations, and I hate the bullshit doctors give you before you go into an operation, "Everything will be alright, I promise."

I promised myself to tell only the truth from now on. The lies would just be worse, and deepen the sense of betrayal I had towards the nations. I didn't want to start lying to myself as well.

I decided to begin with the greatest truth in my life.

I do not love Russia the way everyone assumes.

Everyone had an angle to play, in the world of nations, and I long ago had a crush on him, this is true, but as an admiration, not as a lover.

He had been my hero, my savior, so many times. He fought to save me when so many bad things happened, he helped me out of the worst of situations, and knew when to let me handle things on my own.

Perhaps I had been overzealous when I attempted to make sure the promise he, Ukraine and I had made so many eons ago was still relevant. Ukraine had long since discarded it, telling me how it was a promise between siblings, a childish fantasy, that it would never happen.

That I had to grow up and face reality.

I had never known that my dear older sister could speak in a way that was so cold. Yet she did.

I was the only one of the Kievan Rus who remembered the promise, who still upheld it. Perhaps, in the disappearance of my sanity, I had grown obsessed with keeping the promise with my elder brother, who maybe, just maybe, would remember it and agree to abide by it.

But no, it was not to be, he remembered, but for all the wrong reasons. It was that promise that created the Soviet Union, that had him induct many countries under his house. Now, it wasn't about staying a family even in the worst of times, but about gaining power and land.

But still, I tried.

It was all I had known to believe in, that promise.

The second truth: I had nothing to live for.

The promise meant nothing to my brother now. It was just a way to gain land, and I sat by and watched it happen for so long. But just after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, I returned. There were rumors of Russia wanting to take the world over, and though I knew it was that promise that fueled his effort, I knew it wasn't right.

The promise was between me, Ukraine, and Russia. No one else could share it. We were supposed to stay together, to help each other, to protect each other.

That worked out so well...

And now, the third truth.

I knew I was dying.

The union between Russia and I was making sure that I disappeared. I knew this because ever day, I would forget even more of my language, even more of who I was. I had no one to latch onto, no one to care if I died anyway, so all along, I had been ignoring the fact that I was disappearing.

And now...

I had felt this sort of pain before, back when Germany had ravaged me. But here it was different.

Here, I wasn't a nation.

Here, I was going to die.

Did it phase me? Not really.

After all, it wasn't like anyone would miss me. Notice my absence, maybe, but truly care, I doubted it.

All I was worth to the world was land that no one could harm. Sure, I had resources, but nothing that couldn't be gained somewhere else. Sure, I was beautiful, but there wasn't really a point in having anyone approach me if that's all they care about.

Isn't that right, Lithuania?

Many times, far too many to count, I have asked you what you liked about me, to have you answer with something about how pretty I looked. Nothing about my personality, or my feelings. Just how pretty I was.

I told you to leave me alone if that's all you care about. The conversation swam through my head, a shattered memory.

_"Lithuania?"_

_ "Y-yes, Miss Belarus?"_

_ "What is it that you like so much about me?"_

_ "Well... Miss Belarus, you are very pretty."_

_ "What else?"_

_ "What else? What do you mean?"_

_ "What else do you like about me?"_

_ "What else is there?"_

I had gotten over the Duchy, in a way. But that simple sentence, _What else is there_, changed it all. I had broken his fingers that day, my hatred for him refueled.

Yet each time he came back. Sometimes I'd see him watching me from a distance with those eyes of his. Every other hour, when I was alone, when I had that feeling that someone was there, I'd look out the window, and there he would be.

Waiting, watching.

I would throw knives out the window, never missing my mark, always hitting him, yet he'd still be there. But when Russia came, as he always did, he would be gone, and the knives would be too. And whenever there was a meeting, I would always find a box in front of my seat.

It was always black, wrapped in a deep red ribbon. The color of blood. My blood.

I would open it, pull the fine layers of tissue paper off.

And I would always find the knives, neatly polished and sharpened, with the stains of my stalker's blood on them.

It disturbed me.

He was like all the others, why didn't he realize that? They only looked at me and saw some insane girl with nothing to offer the world, only valued because of how beautiful she was, and perhaps how close she was to Russia.

Those two things, my beauty and connection to Russia.

They were probably what kept me alive all this time.

And now, my ties with my brother were severed. I had only my looks left.

I decided that, when I die, the first thing I would do is hack off half of the long silver hair that Lithuania used to touch, when he thought I didn't notice.

I did.

I would tear out that white ribbon, and burn it with my hair, watch it sizzle and turn to ash wherever I ended up. And I would be happy.

I doubted that, if there was a heaven, that I would go there. More likely hell, should exist, would be waiting for me.

I guess I deserved it.

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I shook my hair out of my face.

_Now or never, _I thought,_ It's not like I'm going to last much longer._

I pulled the stone blade out of my backpack, with a grimace as I moved my arms, and pulled my hair into one of my fists.

I pulled the edge of the dagger along the silver strands, feeling it come away in my hand. Finally, I stopped the slow movement and just hacked the rest off.

Perhaps a foot of my hair was in my hand when I came to inspect it. My head felt a lot lighter, both inside and out, and I guessed it was now around my chin in terms of length. Shaggy, jagged, uneven, I guessed. But I liked it this way.

Even though I couldn't see it, I liked the feel. This was me, like it or not, whomever may be watching. Deal with it.

Finally, I felt around the top of my head. There was the deep wound that gushed blood as I touched it, and ah, there it was, a smooth piece of fabric.

My hair bow.

I pulled it out, and put it into the hand holding the rest of the hair, just feeling it for a while.

A strong gust of wind rolled by a minute later, and I held my hand up. _Time to let it go,_ I decided as I released my grip, and through a hazy vision, watched as it flowed away.

I was now no longer Belarus, the country, nor Natalya Arlovskya. Who I was now I would figure out after I died.

A moment later, after the silver hair and the bloody ribbon were out of sight, a cannon sounded in the distance.

_Looks like another one just bit the dust,_ I thought.

I figured that since I would probably die, I should at least polish off the rest of my food the best I could. I placed a bloodstained hand into my backpack, and felt a round, hard thing in my hand. Curious as to what it was, I extracted it from the rest of my possessions.

It was that fruit. The color of blood, glossy, it resembled an apple, but was so small that I could finish it in three bites. I had found it in the Cornucopia at the very beginning, but had never needed a use for it.

I had forgotten about it earlier. Must have slipped my mind.

Oh well, may as well have it as my last meal. And if it was poisoned or booby trapped or something, it wouldn't make a difference, I was already shutting down.

I closed my eyes, and took a single bite.

It was tasteless, flavorless, and I put it back in my bag, alongside the knife. Oddly, it slid down my throat with ease, and entered my stomach without a hassle, unlike the meat I had tried before.

Well, la dee da.

I closed my eyes and felt it settle in my belly, hollow as Egypt's pots.

And a burst of energy overwhelmed me. My eyes shot open and I felt alive. More so then I had in ages. Like I was on a sugar high or something.

The throbbing stopped, and the aching of my shattered bones ceased. I thought nothing of it, just that my body was shutting down and that my death was beginning.

I felt stronger, like I was a nation, but only for a second. Perhaps my memories of what it felt like to be powerful were overwhelming me.

In spite of my energy surge, I begun to close my eyes.

But wait, before I died, I wanted to send a message to the world who was probably watching me.

I gave a rather cocky smile, a deviant glint in my eyes, and gave the middle fingered salute before falling into a deep sleep.

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I woke up as I always had, perhaps it was just before dawn.

I yawned, my mind a bit hazy from memories of the previous night. Perhaps it was all just a bad dream.

I stretched my arms wide, like an eagle's wings preparing to soar, and shuffled a bit awkwardly to my feet. My body ached a bit, but that was expected, I had spent the night on a stone floor in an awkward position.

I blinked the remaining sleep out of my eyes.

That was some dream, to think that I had died, but it put things in perspective. I decided from that moment on, that I would not tell lies, not to myself, or anyone else. I needed to face the truth if I would get out alive.

That dream had put things together for me, like a puzzle I had tried to finish a long time ago had been missing a piece, and I just found it. _You know what,_ I thought to the nations who were probably watching me_. I'm not giving up. I'll make it through, just to come back and see the looks on your faces. Now that, will be satisfying indeed._

I grabbed my backpack, and something fell out of it.

I rolled my eyes, and bent down to retrieve the object, obscured behind a large stone I had used as my pillow.

I pulled out a small red fruit, similar to an apple, with a bite taken out of it so big, that only two other mouthfuls would finish it off completely.

I rolled my eyes, and put it into my backpack. I had probably bitten into it last night, and with my wonderful memory, forgotten about it. Figures.

I stepped out from the outcropping where I slept under, into the rest of the boxed-in canyon thing. Gray, gray gray. Gray walls, gray sky, gray floor. And a gray pond which I decided to drink from.

I bent over and refilled my canteen, chugging one, two, three helpings of water before feeling quenched. I refilled it once more, and placed it into my backpack, and stared down at my reflection.

It was the face of a girl I did not recognize.

She was thin, her cheekbones protruding more then usual, and certainly once was beautiful, though conquered by hunger. Ash, dirt, blood, all stained her face and when I applied a wet finger to it, it came away and I saw ivory skin underneath the smears. I gathered more water in my hands and rubbed it on the face, seeing more of the beautiful colored skin.

Then I noticed her hair.

It was shaggy, unevenly cut, also streaked with dirt, soot and blood. I doubted that it would wash out, so I left as it was. There was a place that seemed oddly empty to me, as if there was once a hair ribbon on her head, but it was gone now.

I liked this new look.

Her eyes were familiar to me, two large sapphire pools that held many secrets and had witnessed many things. They had a light to them, an expression that I liked, of a girl who was determined, who would fight for her life without a second thought. She may not know what was ahead, but she knew she would keep holding on, until she made it through.

I was fond of this girl. It was almost like I had risen from the dead.

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I stared up at the canyon walls.

They were rough, with many cracks and tiny ledges, great for climbing because of all the hand and footholds. Odds were, if I didn't get out of this little hole in the ground, I'd just starve, as my food supply was running low.

Oh well, if someone was out here looking for a fight, I'd give it to them. _Come and get me, _I teased in my head.

I grabbed a pair of arrows from my quiver, and climbed up to the outcropping, about ten feet from the ground. A good place to start.

My arrows found their way into two cracks that ran upwards, and my feet stood on little ledges that held them up.

And I began.

An hour of climbing and I was a few hundred feet up, about twenty from the top. I smiled, things were looking good.

Then I heard the voices above.

"No, please don't do this!"

"Shut up, or I'll kill you right here!"

"Move her closer to the edge!"

Screams, the sound of a struggle, and of flesh meeting flesh resounded from above me, and I clung to the wall. I wasn't looking for a fight since I would probably splatter all over the ground if I tried anything, and I doubted if I could help I would get a positive outcome, so the best I could do was watch.

A small girl, (Wasn't she from District 8?) was being pushed along the edge, her brown eyes wide with fear. She was screaming for help, for someone to come and save her.

"Come on." came an icy voice from behind, and I saw a lean girl with black hair and dark eyes move into view. She was the one from the bloodbath before, the one with the throwing stars between each finger.

And right now, all the stars were arranged around the girl's throat. "You know no one's here to help you, we killed your other District buddy yesterday, remember? And your little lady friend, from Nine I think? Just after the fire, we caught her too. I doubt you'll be able to say so, since no one was around to hear the cannon. They were too busy putting themselves out."

Another girl stepped into view. She was absolutely beautiful, with long caramel hair and large amber eyes, not to mention the shape of her body. She was holding herself high, in a sort of haughty, snooty way, and a sophisticated gun was strapped to her thigh in a (was that diamond encrusted?) holster that looked like it cost more money than what I had in my bank. This girl was living large while we were scavenging for food and weapons.

"Wh-what are you gonna do to me?" the Nine girl stammered, her blue eyes wide as she struggled to keep her balance on the edge of the cliff.

She smiled devilishly, a sort of murderous grin. "Well isn't it obvious?"

Only the slightest of nods, and the other girl pushed her off the cliff.


	9. Betrayal

Chapter 9 has arrived, we're a bit more than halfway through. Thanks to everyone who continued reading and commenting on this story, I really don't deserve your reviews. Seriously. You guys are awesome. You put up with my constantly shortening chapters, irregular updates, and lengthy rants.

**DISCLAIMER: sigjosdjgsdkgmnfdibvfifsgijj - Make what you will from this gibberish**

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Even though the Nine girl was sure to die, she wouldn't go down without another with her.

I admired her courage.

Even when her fate was inevitable, she was going down with a message.

Her hand lashed out and grabbed Throwing Stars, dragging at her as she fell. Unfortunately, the girl in question grabbed on to the very edge of the cliff, struggling to keep her balance.

I turned my attention back to Nine. She was falling, seemingly in slow motion (Whomever was watching probably saw it in slow motion, anyway. Damn video editing), and worst of all, she turned and looked right at me.

The girl's wide blue eyes stared at me with such a scared, helpless look, and her arm reached out to me, beseeching for me to come save her.

But there was nothing I could do.

I just sat there, crouched on the edge of a cliff and was forced to watch as she fell below me, transfixed by her descent, until I could finally tear my gaze away, closing my eyes as tightly as I could.

There was silence, then a sickening _splat_.

Nearby, a cannon blasted into the air.

Not many words could describe the sick, tearing feeling in my chest as I heard the sounds of death below.

I kept my eyes screwed shut, refusing to look down at the macabre scene below me.

Instead, a conversation a little ways above me appeared, and I looked up, somewhat relieved that something had come along to distract me from the disturbance below..

I flattened myself against the shadows of the deep gray wall, hoping no one would see me. Even though it was nearly impossible to get me from this sort of angle, I knew the girl who had her feet planted on the ground had a gun.

_Odd, _I mused._ There didn't seem to be any guns in the Cornucopia. Perhaps it was hidden somewhere? Oh well, guess I won't find out. Not a big concern though. I don't think there are any other ways to get a gun though. None the people prepping me for Slaughterfest had been so generous to tell me._

I heard the girl who was dangling over the edge speak. The one who had the throwing stars, who I had met earlier.

"A-Arria..." She rasped in a scratchy, hoarse voice, like she hadn't had any water in a while. "I can't get up. Help me!"

But the girl on top, Arria I presume, smiled in that sickening way that my brother does when he's about to do something disturbing. Genocide or something.

"Sorry Rai," she said in a voice that was sweet as honey. Honey that I was all too familiar with hearing.

_Poisonous honey, _I thought.

"What do you mean 'Sorry'?" Rai said, her voice rising a bit. I could observe, even from thirty feet below them, that her lean, pale arms were trembling, she couldn't hold on much longer.

"We're allies? Aren't we? Friends? _Help me!_" Rai's arms were vibrating in a way that was disturbing to view. It beat the alternative of looking down, though.

"I killed that girl and her District friend! I killed the other one, too, right after the fire, when you said it was the best time! I did it for you, because you said you wanted me to. So get me off this cliff!" She sounded like she was about to break down into tears.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Rai," came the voice of the other, her golden eyes that would normally have counted as astonishingly radiant and beautiful now looked cold and triumphant, like how most nations looked when they won a war, or captured a territory. A bit like Denmark the entire time the Nordics were under his control.

"I've got other plans." Arria smiled, her perfect, pearly white teeth flashing in the light. Her beautiful chestnut hair floated ethereally around her face. It sure as hell didn't look like she had been through much.

"Other plans?" Now Rai's voice was toned with exhaustion. She didn't have much time left to hang on.

"Yes, other plans." Arria stepped forward, and leaned over the cliff edge, her gaze fixating on Rai's. Though I couldn't see the throwing star girl's expression, I was sure it was horrified, betrayed, upset and confused.

"Simply put, I don't need you anymore." Arria smirked. "You've been helpful, but it also proved how strong you are. And I can't have you live to compete with me. We both know that there can only be one victor. And though there were two in the Seventy-Fourth Games, we all know how that worked out."

I heard a sharp intake of breath, a ragged gasp, from above. Rai had finally gotten the picture, as did I, and most of our viewers. This would probably be the time that they'd cut to commercial break, if it were a normal program.

I couldn't help but think of a fluorescent spotted that-looked-like-a-glowstick-factory-exploded-on-them person advertising some sort of pink monkey fur miniskirt. Poland, should he be watching, would probably call in immediately, if he could.

But since this wasn't your average reality show, it wouldn't happen. It felt so fake somehow, like I was in a movie or something, as if this wasn't really happening, that it was all some sort of prank and any moment, America would pop out from behind a tree and yell, "Are you scared? You're on Scare Tactics!" To that, I would castrate him with my bare hands.

No, this wasn't a movie, or a prank show, or that twisted thing they call reality TV. This was reality, just the worst kind. The type that's hidden from view, that no one gets to see, because the human race is obsessed with seeing everything that's beautiful, all the rich and famous people, all the people who are physically attractive. The people who are fake are worshiped by the real people, who are driven into a demented sense of life, that they have to follow each celebrity, each millionaire's style in order to be accepted.

This reality was grim, harsh. This wasn't a nightmare, this was life.

"And besides," Arria continued with her speech, drawing me out of my deluded and strange fantasy into this rather grim and deadly reality.

The true reality.

No riches or games or partying here. Just teenagers killing one another in gladiatorial games for the sake of the fake people's entertainment.

Perhaps this was how normal life worked anyway.

"There are several other tributes in the arena besides you who can help me." Arria added. I knew I was one of the six, so I believe there were now five. There was no way in hell that I would help that crazy bitch. I would be the one doing all the work, like how Rai did, while Arria sat nearby and watched. I would be the puppet, she my master. And in the end, she would kill me when my usage expired.

"And what if they don't?" retaliated Rai.

More admiration for a soon-to-be-dead teenager. Though she had been one of my biggest enemies earlier on, this simple act of ferocious loyalty to her 'friend' enraptured me. This was how I had once acted towards my brother.

"Isn't it obvious?" glowered Arria, the Cheshire Cat, no, Prussia sized grin on her face growing in size."Of course, you were never one for brains. Brawn maybe, but certainly not your intelligence. I'll shoot them. This gun isn't a toy, you know."

No surprise there, Princess Pretty.

As if to prove this point, she held the sleek instrument up into the air, and I heard a loud blast and a streak of silver flew upwards into the air. A minute passed, and a bird fell to the ground.

She kicked it aside with disdain, and it plummeted over the edge, past me. Probably to the dead girl below.

I hated her even more for that. She proved she had good aim, but wasted a good meal. Did this girl have a death wish?

_Or... _I worked out. _Did she know she would get something to eat later?_

How would someone in such a situation as this know they would gain food without having to fight or hunt for it?

Perhaps it was that she was confident she would win over a tribute and they would work for her. But no, that didn't seem right. If I were her, I wouldn't hedge my bets on whether they would be willing to help me, I would be expecting them to try to kill me, even with my charm. I would think, if I were her, that I had to win over my opponent first. Give them something that will make them want to support me.

Maybe it was the same way she got the gun.

"Either way, I'm going to win these games. And you can't stop me." Arria's sweet voice again. Too sweet, for my opinion. It just sounded so false, so untrue, like she was putting on an act.

I watched in horror. There was nothing I could do. I was too far away to do anything, without a way up that would get me there in time. Most likely, I'd end up down in that stone death trap with them.

So I had to sit there, flattened against the edge of the cliff wall, and bear witness to a brilliant, seductive, beautiful girl double-cross and murder her loyal, hardworking companion in cold blood.

What's worse, she did it in such a simple way.

All Arria had to do was tap the edge of the thinning stone jutting out from the rest with the hardened heel of her leather boot. There was nothing, but just after the murderess stepped back, I heard a barely audible, but still noticeable _crack_.

And suddenly, the stone edge that Rai had been clinging to had deteriorated into rubble, and she plummeted through the air, down to the fate of the girl from District 9.

This time, I looked down.

I could see some sort of vacuum thing sucking up the first victim's remains/ No words could describe the feeling I had looking at the splattered remains. None could quite describe their appearance accurately either, so I'll leave it open for speculation.

The vacuum collected the bird too. It had been fat, the size of a chicken. It could have fed me for a few days.

I watched, and locked eyes with Rai as she fell, onyx meeting sapphire. And in that moment, we had an understanding.

We both had loved someone so much, we would die for them. We both did things out of passion for the one we believed in. But in the end, the only difference between she and I was that I had been taken from my own partner's side before it was too late.

I gave her a single look, that bore all my emotions. Pain, anger, sadness, fear, and confusion that was mirrored in her eyes, that I was feeling in my chest as I watched her fall.

Anguish and grief for someone I barely knew, who had tried to kill me, who would die in less then a second, overcame my head like a great snowstorm General Winter produced each year. I couldn't escape it, and the only thing I could do, was wait until it passed.

Or in this case, until she passed.

And then, _splat_.

Exactly one second later, the loud booming of a seemingly invisible cannon blasted into the air.

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I waited for an hour, two hours, three, in the same position. My muscles were numb, but I waited, watching the shattered remains of Rai get sucked up in the mysterious vanishing vacuum tube. What if that crazy girl was above me? I sure as hell didn't want to fall down there again.

"Screw this," I finally decided. I grabbed hold of the arrows, still frozen in my hands, and adjusted my grip, returning my attention to scaling the wall and leaving.

My emotions were numb, my mind a whirling wreck as I climbed.

Maybe I was hungry, but I didn't feel it.

Maybe I was thirsty, but I didn't sense it.

Maybe I was hurt, but I didn't perceive it.

Did it really matter?

I finally felt the top under my hands, and pushed the arrows up onto the ledge, my hands crawling along the stone scattered ground up to my elbows, which I used as leverage to pull myself up. I could see right away that Arria wasn't there.

Thank God.

I wasn't ready to deal with her yet. She'd probably suck me into her spiderweb, regardless of her choice. If I joined her, she'd double cross me. If I refused, she'd kill me.

So it was a lose-lose situation, huh?

At any rate, I pulled myself fully from the cliff, and rested at the border where stone fused into earth, scorched from the fire. _How long have I been down there? _I wondered.

_Definitely at least a day or two. Is that it? Are Arria and I the only ones left? _

_ No... That can't be right, she said 'Several other tributes' and she probably wouldn't bother if there were two or three left. She'd just fend for herself and wait for us to pick one another off._

_ Since a cannon went off last night, and according to Arria when they killed the girl from District Nine, they disposed of her friend and fellow district member, a boy and girl, and factoring in all the other deaths I heard, I guess there are around seven or eight of us left, give or take._

_ But who knew how many had perished in the time I had spent unconscious?_

As I stood up on my feet once more, I waded into the sea of grass that was untouched by the fire, that blazed a path all the way to the trees in the distance, and begun foraging.

What would happen next, I didn't know.

But I was awake, and I was alive, and that mattered. I would worry about killing Arria later.

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How far I wandered, I didn't know. But wild berries now filled my backpack, and my belly, and I hadn't seen a single person. Just those odd birds singing that creepy four-note call. It felt like I knew it from somewhere, I just couldn't put my finger on where exactly.

The further I walked, the more lost I was. But I had to get out of here. The arena, so it was called, couldn't go on forever.

Could it?

No, that was a stupid thought.

I hacked through the ridiculously tall grass with my stone knife, deciding that while it was great at killing, skinning, scaling and whatnot, it was really crappy at clearing land. I was muttering to myself, "Where's a goddamn machete when you need one?"

I trudged on, and came upon a sort of drop-off, near the edge of the grassy wilderness, around ten, maybe twenty feet from where I was standing. Around ten feet below where the ground ended in a sharp edge, there were lots of jagged stones, I observed.

I made a move to go forward.

And I did. For a few steps.

A few feet in, and I felt this... presence.

And I flew backwards, sharp pain surging through my body, right onto my ass.

"The hell?" I speculated, getting back up onto my feet. Deciding better then stepping forward again, I tentatively reached a finger out.

And it was zapped with a sudden surge of electricity.

"Shit!" I yelled, stepping backwards again.

I didn't know what was going on here, but it creeped me out. A lot.

I picked up a clump of dirt resting near my boot, and threw it at the strange electricity-inducing barrier.

I heard a _zap_, and it flew right at me, just missing my right shoulder.

I picked up another, and tossed it at more of an upwards angle, perhaps twenty feet up.

_Zap_.

Back it came.

I decided to turn back, and head back somewhere else, my heart sinking as if it were in quicksand, which was probably somewhere in the arena.

There was no escape. I had to face it.

I was trapped here, with a force field. And as far as I knew, there was no way out.

Things weren't looking too good at that point, as you may imagine.

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The two Capitol girls felt their fingers fly almost effortlessly over the vast array of buttons, keys and other controlling objects. The servants of a certain Gamemaker's daughter were on guard in front of the room, dressed up as Peacekeepers.

The two guests of honor in the control room were hard at work, remembering countless security codes that had been drilled into their memory. These games would be different, that was for sure.

"Here we go..." muttered one of them as she hit _enter _and on the screen appeared a list.

The list of what was to come in the Games.

Things like natural disasters, mutts, and special advantages were listed, simple as can be. Some, like "Fire" and "Vine Lake Mutt" had lines through them.

So far, nothing much.

But there were three, at the bottom of their special lists, that caught the girls' eyes.

One, under the discontinued special advantages list, stated "Important Sponsor → Arria." A side note under it said the following, "Wants best weapons for favorite tribute, special treatment. DO NOT DISAPPOINT."

Another, under the same category was "Second Chance."

This one had a link.

The girls clicked it.

A new file popped up, with a picture of the little red fruit they had watched the girl, she called herself Belarus, eat when she was dying at the bottom of the cliff. They knew that she had massive internal injuries.

Yet she had lived.

And they just found out how. This fruit, according to their source, was concocted in the best of the Capitol's labs. There were no others like it in the entire world. According to what it said, it had the ability to cure massive injuries, both internal and external, even stop diseases and viruses dead in their tracks.

In just one bite, you could practically come back from the dead.

It was only big enough for three bites however.

Three chances. Three chances to live. The girls could see how it was a fatal flaw.

If anyone found out the Belarus girl had it, she would be the prime target. They would kill her and steal it and keep attacking one another, paranoid about who might have it, who may make their way to victory in the easiest way.

In conclusion, it was best for Belarus to guard that secret with her life. And when it was gone, she'd have to be extra careful.

They exited out of the file, and returned their attention to the final thing that had caught their eyes.

The text on the screen said "Tribute Wolf Mutt- In progress."

They clicked it.

_Reminiscent of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games' final muttation challenge, bringing on the death of Cato, the District Two male tribute, these muttations are a revolutionary design of creating a wolf the size of our own wild dogs, slightly smaller then the average horse, from the DNA of fallen tributes. The tributes, once slain, have their genes extracted from corpses and placed into very special sensory chambers, where they are given a specific duty to fulfill, to bring the tribute back as a creature to prove as a final challenge to the last two tributes standing._

_ This year however, we have added an additional variable, to create extra psychological mayhem upon the final two, we are to instigate a timer in each muttation's body, with a specific code in the mind telling it exactly what to do. Our goal is to replicate the deaths of each tribute. Those who have been slain will turn on their packmates, those who have died due to other muttations or animals will attract the creatures to them, those who burned and exploded will have timers in their bodies, so they may, at the time of the tribute preceding themselves' death, they will burst into flames or simply erupt into spontaneous combustion._

_ And those killed by the final two will attack the tributes, and put themselves in a similar position as when they were killed, so they may die in the same way._

_ Finally, the third to be left alive shall die, and the final two, weakened by the attacks, will duel, the odds changed due to how many attacked the living and how many the living have killed. Altogether, this phenomenon will be changing the odds of the Hunger Games have they been unedited by ourselves._

A link was below it, with the word "Progress" underlined. Of course, it was investigated.

There, they saw the pictures, DNA codes, and biographies of every tribute in the Games, live and dead, though the dead had a live video of how their muttation was developing.

The girl from District Thirteen. Her muttation was complete, and it was in it's hibernation state, small, scrawny, pathetic looking.

Several others.

And finally, the newest edition, a strong, black furred female with dark eyes, still in it's development chamber, but, as it usually was, growing before their eyes.

Then, the daughter of the President himself, Catalia, got a sudden gleam in her eye. She whispered into her friend, seated at the computer's ear, and they clicked on a particular tribute. They found the DNA link easily, and wrote a new string of code into it.

Should this tribute die, things would get very interesting.

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**(A/ N: The force field thing. Before I get any evil comments, please remember that Belarus has never been to the Hunger Games before, and doesn't know that there's a limit on how far you can go. She only just figured out that she's trapped.)**


	10. A Different Perspective

Before you read this, I recommend reading the following statement. The rest, do it at your own pace.

**WARNING: Badly written, but still present gore. And ticks talking to an insane person. If you're not fond of it, please skip the sections of Turin and Opus, though things make more sense if you do read them. No evil comments, I did warn you.**

This installment is going to be a bit different. Instead of a continuous narrative by everyone's favorite nation tribute (And the only one at that), I'd like to introduce the surviving characters, and add a bit on them. Because it's always nice to get a different perspective on things.

First, a side note on District Twelve. According to what I heard, at the very end, D12 is rebuilt, and supplies medicine to the rest of the Districts. I tweaked it a little. District Twelve was rebuilt, and once again has coal mining. But they also supply medicine, and as a result, the District is slightly healthier and stronger. But since the majority gets exported, not that much. Same Peacekeepers, but this time, the fence is almost always electrified. And I imagine that since they need both coal and medicine, there will be a sort of roster for who goes where. Since the Seam doesn't get as stronger a say as the townsfolk, many remain in the mines. If there's a spot available, they'll attack each other for the chance to work in the fields.

A bit of foreshadowing going on with each character, one of them of course, is going to become Belarus's ally. And before you go "Out of character, bwahaha..." I'd like to remind you, as a nation, her obligations to act like her country expects her to, and how her countrymen/women act, she is developing a personality, and a mind of her own. So she'll be different from the knife-throwing-psycho-incest-bitch who's often the villain of so many stories.

A little side note on Kiro's character: I designed her around the concept of what my mind would be like if I were in the Games. So many things that could go wrong, what if you ate the wrong thing, or stayed in the wrong place, or made friends with the wrong person? It would drive me crazy, to the point where I would just do something stupid or go on a killing spree until someone shot me.

Another: For Turin: He's gone nuts. Picture Cato, but scrawnier, with a deformed eye. Who hears ticks talking to him...

Godspeed, District Twelve siblings.

Would any of you guys go crazy in the Games?

**Yada yada yada, I don't own this. Too bad for me.**

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Arria smiled.

She had been faring well so far.

Sponsors provided her food, shelter, supplies and weaponry, so there was no true need to worry about anything.

Except the other tributes.

But then again, they were her pawns, one way or another. So easy to use, so eager to help, so easy to dispose of.

The beautiful District One tribute continued slinking as silently as a cat through the forest, the thoughts of who was left and their usefulness running through her head.

There was the boy from District One, Terran, the one she accompanied into the Games. He was strong, more so than anyone left alive, and was skilled in swordplay. She knew that he had a crush on her, and was rather simple minded. Easy to manipulate, easy to kill, he'd rather save her over himself. That would be quite an advantage. She also knew that he lived somewhere near the Cornucopia. Perhaps he would be of use to her soon, if no one better presented themselves.

There were both from Twelve. A brother and sister. Both had long jet black hair, olive skin, and vibrant green eyes, with a light frame, almost delicate.

She knew they hid in the grasslands.

She knew that the boy was more impulsive than his cautious younger sister. He would be easier to kill, she decided. Easier to lure into a trap, though she was a more obvious target.

She knew that he had a flail and whip, and the knowledge to use it, perhaps from their training. Arria was aware of the girl's small, streamlined throwing axes, and how accurate her aim was. She also knew, from careful observation of the little alliance, that she had an advantage over the District One tribute.

The girl, her name was Gallia, understood the wild dogs.

She could calm an enraged one, befriend them, even ride them. She sent several boys to their demise by speaking with two, a pair of brothers who roamed the grasslands.

She could be useful.

Not her brother, Opus, though, Arria had to get rid of him, she decided. But Gallia was so loyal to her brother... But if she didn't see Arria kill him, how could she refuse.

There was the District Three girl, named Kiro, who was still left, small with curly red hair and large gray eyes. No older then thirteen. It was by pure luck that she managed to survive after all. But being from the district of developing technology, she would know how to mess Arria's gun up. And she couldn't allow that. So of course, Kiro had to die as well. Should be easier, Arria decided, Kiro was small, weak and unarmed. Easy to kill. But there was the variable of her brain, which may be of use to her after all.

Kiro was very smart, so Arria observed, not likely to take any risks, and rather paranoid. She was more likely to flee than fight, which presented a problem. Arria wanted someone who would devote themselves to her, and do her dirty work. Kiro was cunning, and would rather hide than fight. It was probably what kept the kid alive so long, the tactic of fleeing the scene, being too paranoid of the variables of the arena that she barely ate or slept.

What if the food was poisoned? What if the tree branch would give way to her weight? What if the earth would open up and swallow her?

On the other hand, what if she starved? What if she slept on the ground instead and got killed in her sleep? What if the earth was safe, and the sky was what she should fear?

Her paranoia would be her undoing, decided Arria as a trap played in her mind. There was something she could use to kill the girl, who she knew had a thing for animals.

But the weapon, a small packet with a certain type of powder, was in the Cornucopia. Arria had hidden it under a rock nearby. She'd just have to retrieve it, and repositioned herself to walk towards it. If she met up with Terran on the way, of course she'd ally herself with him. Long enough to pick off a tribute or two.

There was the District Six tribute, Turin, an eighteen year old boy with a deformity in his right eye, supposedly making him blind on his right side. He had dull ashen blond hair, and brown eyes, one mentioned before dull and glassy. He had a thing for spears, as Arria had realized, but couldn't throw very far, and would have to get in to kill. He had scored one tribute in the bloodbath, but was smart. He had impaled the corpse with a weapon he couldn't use, and got rid of it. Better to narrow down the choices of the competition. She could use that intuition. He also had a grudge, so she discovered, against the District Twelve tributes, the brother killed his friend, that little kid from District Six, in the earliest stage of the Games, the bloodbath. He would want revenge.

She could use that.

But he only answered to himself, so she had seen, rejecting an alliance with a girl who stumbled out into the desert, the idiot. That just wouldn't do.

Then, there was the Capitol tribute, the girl called Natalya who referred to herself as Belarus. She was beautiful, and would have probably attracted sponsors just because of that aspect. But she hadn't attracted a single silver parachute since her entry, which was one of the few things that astounded the District One girl. She didn't just have looks on her side, but instinct, and determination, as well as the ability to hunt and build fires and kill very well with a knife she made herself, from a special type of stone Rai had rambled about.

Arria had seen her, flattened against the edge of the cliff, when she had killed Rai. She knew the girl had fallen, and somehow lived. Arria had seen the bloodstains down below, not just from District Nine's remains. How had the Capitol girl survived?

She must have had some sort of advantage, decided Arria. She wanted to figure out what it was.

The only flaw in Natalya's usefulness to the District One girl was that she had witnessed her disposal of the now useless Rai. But the thing she had learned about Natalya, in the training room was that she was cunning and strategic, or at least used to be. Perhaps she would overlook the little problem with Rai, and make a good deal. She seemed like Rai, in the aspect that she would follow someone to the death, and had an undying loyalty quality buried within her. Perhaps it was someone in the past, most likely the brother she spoke of during the interviews.

Which meant, she would die for someone she cared for, or at least found useful.

_Yes,_ Arria decided, _she will make an excellent ally indeed. But then there's the matter of how I will kill her when her warranty expires. _

Several hours later, when she was poised to enter the Cornucopia territory to retrieve the murder weapon, she heard the telltale harbinger of death.

A single cannon boomed in the distance.

Arria smiled.

One down, five to go.

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Kiro trembled as she stepped carefully through the forest. If she went any faster, she might be caught by surprise by something that would be visible to her if she was slow, soaking in the details. But if she was slow, than someone who was trailing her could catch her.

Was someone following her? Tracking her every move? Waiting for her to step into a certain place, or do a certain thing?

Or was it that a wild dog or bear was tracking her, intent on finding a next meal.

Maybe nothing was there after all.

The variables were terrifying, maddening, consuming her mind.

Everywhere she turned, there was danger, even in the most innocent of things.

She jumped a foot into the air as a scuffling sound came from the tree ahead. Her heart was in her throat, no her mouth, as she waited with her large gray-blue eyes widening.

Was it some terrible muttation, intent on destroying her?

Or was it a tribute, hiding there for hours now, and upon spotting her, decided to dispose of her and greaten the odds of their emerging as the Victor?

Maybe it was just the wind, or an animal she could eat.

But she had nothing to catch it with, other than her bare hands. She had almost all of her food, with the exception of a bag of peanuts, her supplies, everything, even her boots, stolen from her or burned to the point of no return in the terrifying time several nights before, when fire rained down from the sky, like sparks flew off of machinery that was being formed.

She clenched her teeth and watched, her muscles tensed for a quick escape.

Moments passed, and nothing happened.

Was the creature, or tribute coiling it's muscles, waiting for her to take that single step forward? Was it not there at all?

Was it the wind, or a tracker jacker?

Was it a squirrel?

Was it all inside her head?

And within another minute, an agonizing sixty seconds of variables and possibilities, "What if's" and probabilities, she had her answer.

A scrawny crow appeared. It fluttered loudly to the ground, and cawed at her. In spite of herself, Kiro yelped and jumped backwards.

Was it a mutt, cleverly disguised as a crow, come to kill her?

No... It was friendly, she realized as it hopped around her, hoping for handouts from the dirty plastic bag she clutched in her dirty hands.

The frail tribute shyly extended a single nut, still encased in it's shell, in a small palm. The large bird took it, and cracked it open against the ground, summoning it's brethren with a flash of ebony wings in the air.

At least twenty crows assembled from the treetops, bouncing and fluttering around her with raucous cries, and she begun trembling once more, throwing a handful of nuts at them.

As the birds came to earth to eat the nuts from the shattered shells, from when they threw them to the ground to break them open, she couldn't help but smile.

The birds were so relaxing. They kept her mind from going crazy from all the possibilities, of what could go wrong and right.

After they ate, she expected them to leave, as birds usually did. But they lingered, bouncing and fluttering around her, moving when she did.

Kiro smiled.

Maybe this was a sign, that things were taking a turn for the better.

Several hours later, Kiro was knee deep in the water with a messily-made-but-still-functional net she had woven from some of the reeds off the shore. She was opposite the Corncopia side, and the grassland side was to her left, the one that led to the forests and eventually a desert to her right. As far as she knew, no one was nearby.

She finally pulled the nets out of the water and tossed her catch, a few flapping silver fish, to the shore, with a few extra. Enough for a surplus for her and her bird friends.

They had proven themselves very useful, they cawed at danger, and mobbed a fox that had gotten too close once before. It was missing an eye now.

She sat down and begun to gut the fish with an iron spearhead she discovered near the edge of the water, throwing pieces of organs at her newfound friends as she worked.

As she was about to toss another, she heard the grim sound of a cannon ring out into the sky in the distance.

She shuddered, only glad that it wasn't her.

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Opus was on his knees in the dirt, sketching the current plans for the labyrinth of grass passages out. They were already quite intricate.

He smiled happily, things were going as planned. They had almost completed the maze, and the two had memorized many of the twists and turns to enter and exit successfully from it.

He muttered to himself about other possibilities, to make traps in false entrances and exits, rubbing in and out designs with an olive skinned finger.

He shook his unruly black hair out of his green eyes and continued his work, gnawing on a piece of rabbit meat as he did so.

Things were going well for them, he thought as he continued. They had food, water, and a safe place to live. They could easily wait out the Games. But when the time came, and there were just he and his sister, Gallia left, if it was possible, the two would either kill themselves, or wait for the Capitol to kill one of them, the other committing suicide soon after.

The pact was to be upheld.

But the odds of them being the final two were very slim, he decided. The boy from District Six, Turin, was insane and obsessed with killing them. His sister for compensation for Nadia, the girl from the same district he had killed in the bloodbath, and himself for extra measure.

Opus shook his head. He had to protect his sister, if it came down to it, he would rather be killed first knowing that he had done all he could, than watch her die before him.

He shifted his crouched position, snapping a twig nearby, and heard a soft rushing nose behind him.

Opus assumed it was the wind, and tossed his black hair back as he continued sketching.

But a metallic whizzing coming up from behind him told him it wasn't just the wind that was there.

A cannon boomed into the air as he fell backwards into the oncoming blackness that rushed up to claim him.

His body was an eradicated slab of lacerated flesh, his blood soaked into the ground, barely any left. Many bones were now shattered, and muscle was torn. His dark-haired scalp was torn apart, he could feel, the top of his skull bashed in and puncturing the delicate organ of his brain.

Finally, after hours of horrific torture, his fading vision registered the blurred form of the boy, holding his iron spear up directly over his heart, the iron point facing downwards.

Time slowed as it was forced downwards, and Opus felt no pain as his final working organ was destroyed, and removed, he could see it pull free of a few arteries and muscles that dared hold on, dangling above him, squirting even more blood on his destroyed face.

And at last, it was enough.

He was forced into the horrible blackness that followed, pain flowing through him that was too much for even him to bear. Opus was drowning in it, and finally stopped struggling, and simply sank.

_ I'm sorry Gallia..._

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Turin clutched his iron-tipped spear as he followed the faint imprints of the bootprints.

He was getting closer to the boy. District Twelve.

He would avenge Nadia's death.

And achieve victory.

He knew that the boy had killed her. She was just twelve, a fragile thing. He was friends with her elder brother, and sworn that he would protect her with his life.

He had failed.

But he would redeem himself by destroying her murderer. Then, if he were to die, he would at least have gained his honor back. He owed his best friend, Asher, that much.

He smiled as the prints seemed to get fresher.

Turin was hungry, his ribs easily pronounced and showing, his bones outlined sharply under the thin cover of his skin.

His clothes were reduced to tatters and ribbons, and he was caked in dirt in every possible place. Dirt and blood and soot. A record of what he had done. How many tributes, but mostly animals he had killed. How many times he ran into the destruction of the blaze several nights before. How much he crawled through every day.

There were deep, dark bags under his eyes, the one which was blinded staring ahead, empty and expressionless, the one that still worked, bloodshot and bugged out.

Even though he appeared to be starving, he didn't feel it. The stomach rumbling was numb to him.

Even though he could have washed himself off even the tiniest bit, maybe picked the ticks that were gathered in the matted mess of his ashen hair out, he didn't care.

But despite the appearance of sleep deprivation, he was fine. He was wired, even. Turin felt alive, awake, and energized.

He felt something wiggle near his scalp, another sharp pinprick that shot him through with adrenaline that kept him going. The ticks didn't hurt. They were welcome even. They were his friends.

He could hear them whisper to him sometimes, guiding him in the right direction.

They understood, and no one else did.

_Turin, Turin, Turin_, they whispered. _He's close. You can sense him, can't you? _

_ Yes,_ he thought back, _yes I can. And I will kill him, for you Nadia! Asher, I'm going to make this right, you hear?_

To answer the ticks' tip, he heard a small, barely audible, but nonetheless there, _snap_. A twig crunched underfoot of the prey, just ahead now...

He crawled, army style, over the ground, more dirt marking his tattered clothes, more burrs fastening themselves to his hair.

Sure enough, there he was.

A wild grin appeared on Turin's soiled face as the ticks urged him onward.

He raised the spear, and threw it.

After the cannon sounded, Turin let out a gasp of happiness and his grin grew larger.

He stared down at the mutilated corpse, the shredded life-giving organ clenched in his hands. He had misjudged the distance the first time, allowing the boy to inflict damage on him. But the next time, and the next and the next, he didn't miss. He knew the boy was dying from the first fatal hit, but there was just so much rage...

What was left was hardly recognizable as a human being.

_Finally,_ he thought._ I've redeemed myself to you, Asher._

And with that, he collapsed into a deadly slumber from his standing position, dropping from sheer exhaustion or the single, well placed wound in his body getting to him, is still up to be debated.

But he was happy as he faded into unconsciousness, as the ticks whispered praise to him.

_You have done well, Turin,_ they murmured._ You have regained your honor, you have redeemed her death. But only partially. You can redeem yourself fully when you awaken. You shall be the next victor, we promise you, the title is as good as yours._

_ But there is one thing you must do._

_ You have to kill Gallia._

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Gallia watched.

She and her brother were alone, and that was good. So far.

Nonetheless, she still felt it was her duty, to keep watch on the tall rock in the center of the grassland, where her head and shoulders breached the ten foot tall green-gold grasses with the maze-like paths she had hacked with her axes, according to a design her brother had worked out in the dirt.

It would take anyone who wanted to reach them a while to find their way through.

She was alone, in the makeshift camp by the rock. Her brother had gone out to patrol their little territory for anyone who was near. So far, he was the only one who had done any direct killing. Just one from the Bloodbath. And that was it.

But she had killed several already. Not with her throwing axes, but she may as well have. She was the one who asked the dogs to kill the boy. She was the one who heard the cannon, and then the second one. It was her fault that the boys would never go home, to families who loved them.

Their siblings and parents would be weeping, their girlfriends screaming her name in hatred and grief, their closest friends would be praying for her death to be long and agonizing, in compensation for the lives she took.

She shook her head, her unruly black hair obstructing her olive skinned face from view. She irritably pulled it away from her large bright green eyes.

Her eyes. They were the favorite thing about her appearance. It wasn't often that kids from the Seam had green eyes, to be honest, it barely ever happened. Mainly just gray. But she and her brother shared this strange, possibly mutant gene, and she was happy about it. It marked her as an individual in the Seam, not another emaciated, starving kid who would turn up dead in the Games.

They had used the color of her eyes, her prep team. Incorporated it into the interview dress, the ethereal shimmering one. They had completely ignored the fact that she was from the district of coal mining, said that coal and fire wasn't right for her pretty face.

So instead, they had focused on her District's other supply of income, the herbs that gave medicine to the rest of the Districts, as well as the Capitol. The place outside that provided the meat Opus had smuggled in from the newly constructed Hob, and the place that made sure he wouldn't succumb to wounds from when Peacekeepers almost caught him. He had grown his bangs so they would cover his eyes, so he would look like just another starving Seam boy, desperate to find food for his family.

Her dress brought back bittersweet memories though. It had flowing fabric that floated off her body with the slightest breeze generated by her movements, reflecting the lush vibrant colors of the leaves of the herbs in the fields, with undertones of the deep, subtle green of the treetops of the forests surrounding the District, shot through with streaks of the pale minty shade of her eyes.

Supposedly, she was one of the highlights of the interviews.

But she didn't care.

Oh, she had played her angle. Sweet, innocent, shy, kindhearted. It wasn't hard to be shy and sweet, since it reflected her personality, but she was far from innocent.

She had lost her father to a Peacekeeper's whip, and her mother to gas in the mines she decided to work in to keep the family of now three fed, since the positions at the medicine fields were always full.

She had seen her father beaten to a pulp before her eyes, the bloated carcass of her mother as she was carted up from the subterranean depths. She had seen where her brother got food, the reconstruction of the Hob, another illegal black market where he was supplied them with food to sustain them, but barely. She had used her knowledge of the plants to grow her own illegal garden, in the small, secluded area of the fields that were behind the District.

The place near the fence that was now permanently electrocuted, yet they didn't have electricity. No one went there anymore.

Probably because of the wild dogs that dug around below the fence nearby. They had grown much more cunning, and knew now that at one certain hour, right when everyone seemed to head out to the meadow for whatever reason, the electricity went out. And they took the chance to dig a hole, and enter.

They never went further than the beginning of the Seam, and chased a few game animals over, as the hole was quite large. If the animals escaped into the Seam, they were fair game to the people, but if they were caught, they were for the dogs. No one bothered the dogs, because of the extra meat, even the Peacekeepers were smart when it came to this, but no one attempted to get near them, either.

Until she arrived again.

A scrawny, runty ten year old girl, who had tried to grow herbs near the wild dogs' entry and exit point. They must have accepted that she was a regular of this place too, and for the most part, ignored her until she was eleven. But when she turned eleven, they begun to accept her more. The youngest thought of her as an honorary pack member, and invited her in. She took the invitation, and was given a small amount of the kills after a while.

She studied them, and they did her. She learned the intricacy of their family system, and compared it to human family groups. She learned their survival techniques, and the tiny signals their ears, tails, pelts, and faces made when their mood changed.

She even, when she turned twelve, discovered she could ride them.

But even though she could easily escape and run into the woods with them, she didn't. She couldn't leave Opus, who refused to leave the District. And they understood.

Even though school alienated her, she didn't care. She had food, clothes and her brother. And all the family she could ever hope for.

Gallia knew that from when she was twelve, that she would enter the Games somehow, just an instinct instilled by the dogs, and while she was out there, tending to the small herb patches she hid, she practiced flinging small pickaxes, memories of the mine that killed her mother. She grew stronger, and when she was thirteen, the following year, as expected, she was drawn.

And so was he.

They would enter together, and die together in the Arena. They would not be victors, because only one would survive. That was the pact they made before being separated into their respective tubes that would enter them in the Games.

And here they stood. Where he was a barterer, and quite strategic, she was a hunter and gatherer, a killer.

They were much like the wild dogs.

Which Gallia guessed was why they were easy to befriend.

She shook her head, and focused instead on the current events. Best to focus on the present and the future, not the past, when you're in the Hunger Games.

Things were going well so far. Earlier that day, they had caught a rabbit, and had cooked it in some of the still warm coals the fire had stirred up. They sneaked back to the small pond, near the border of where the wild dogs had claimed a territory, carefully because even though she had a way with them, all bets were off if they caught her in their territory.

But since the fire, she hadn't seen the two. Had they died? Or were they just hiding? Maybe wounded? Or did they move territories, out of fear of the flames, even though only a small fraction of their hunting grounds were scorched?

She wondered if she would ever find out.

But nonetheless, she was having a good day.

She had a full belly, and an oilskin pouch of water at her side. There were no tributes within eyesight, which meant her brother was most likely safe.

Good.

She turned towards the lake and the forest surrounding it, wondering what if her brother would be dead someday, before her, however unlikely the variable was that it would happen.

_I guess I'd keep going,_ Gallia resolved._ Even though I'd want to give in, I'd know my brother wouldn't want me to. So I wouldn't. I'd be like the wild dogs, and adapt. I'd find a way to survive, and I'd take it. But I don't know if I'd ever make another alliance. At this rate, no one I think is trustworthy is left. The District One tributes definitely aren't, they'd just kill me too quickly, neither is Kiro, she looks out for herself, or the Six boy. He hates us. Opus killed the girl from his District, so he wants to get revenge. _

_The person most likely to be my ally would be the Capitol girl, she calls herself Belarus,_ decided Gallia. _She's not useless, if she's survived this long, and she must have some trick up her sleeve. She doesn't seem like someone who would take sponsors so she must be a survivor_.

_Yeah... _She thought as she laid back on the stone and closed her eyes. _In the event that my brother dies, I'll find her. _

_ Belarus._

Several hours later, she shot up on her stony bed with a mounting sense of loss and fear that the wild dogs had instilled in her, awakened by the sound of a cannon.

She knew.

She didn't know how she knew this, but she referred to it in the dogs as pack empathy. When one died, they grieved for it, even if they never located the body. When one was prosperous, they rejoiced with it.

She had this... pack empathy with only one person in her lifetime.

And she knew that he was gone.

Just like that. She hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye.

Her brother was dead.

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Terran paced.

He had patrolled his territory, from the Cornucopia to the lake, eight times already. Nothing much was left to do.

There was plenty of food left, so he didn't need to hunt.

There were no tributes nearby, so there was no need to kill.

He sat down on a large boulder near the center of his territory, and inspected his clean sword. It was very large, a powerful, two-handed instrument, smooth and silvery. Nothing much to look at in terms of decoration, but he didn't care.

It served him well in the bloodbath, so that meant it was useful. He doubted anyone in the arena had the physical strength necessary to lift it, besides himself of course. There was no need to guard it carefully. He just needed to watch for anyone who came by. That way, he could kill them, and be closer to victory.

But if it was Arria who came next, which was highly unlikely given her intelligence and observant skills. But nonetheless, if she did...

What would he do?

Terran decided he would figure that out later. She was elsewhere, and alive, and that was what mattered.

He had known better than to go public with the devotion to the beautiful girl, though everyone back at home knew it was present. He didn't want to end up in a situation like the Seventy-Fourth and Seventy-Fifth Games. They didn't show them anymore in the Districts, or at least in his District. Too much rebellion or something.

But he grew up with stories, that if he fell in love with someone who was going into the Games, he was not to save her. It only caused hardship.

He unsheathed his sword, and pulled it across the rough stone, hearing the scraping sound of metal against rock as it sharpened. If he looked like he was preparing for a fight, he'd draw attention, his mentor had taught him.

He didn't even look up when the cannon sounded.

Suddenly, a feeling.

Someone was there.

He immediately brandished his sword and leaped to his feet, ready to fight.

But the figure that emerged from the trees was the last one he had expected to see.

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(A/N: Ah, cliffhangers. I just love to make you guys tear your hair out, don't I? But they keep you guessing, don't they? And waiting for more at that. Plus, it's a bit of revenge on cliffhanger stories in the past that I've read but have never been finished. I can just picture myself, in my dark room, with sweats on, sprawled out on my bed with crazy, askew hair doing the Kira laugh. {Death Note reference, anyone?})


	11. To Fan the Flames

Ah, here we have the next chapter, up and ready to go. I apologize for the month-long-wait... My stupid muse ran off with another, but they came crawling back to me.

And I have quite a few more perspectives I'd like to reach, so I'm going to add more... Because I'm evil.

Here we go:

In this chapter, we get some viewpoints from the Capitol, not just from the inside rebellion, but from bystanders who approve, and those in charge. There's also a bit on the Districts back home and their own viewpoints. And a P.O.V. from a nation back in the conference room. But of course, since I'm an evil hermit in my little cave made of pillows and blankets underneath my couch, I'm going to leave you with a Belarus-centric cliffhanger ending. With her alliance foreshadowed.

**Disclaimer:****Ég****eiga****ekki****hungri****leiki, né****Hetalia,****svo****án****frekari****tafa****...****  
><strong>**Herrar mínir og****frúr,****velkomin****aftur til Einn hundraðasta Leikirhungurverkfalla! Má líkurnar vera alltaf í****hag****söguhetjan****okkar...**

… Anyone who can guess the language (Google Translate since I'm a chump) the disclaimer was in will know in advance who's P.O.V. will be back with our close and confused buddies the nations in advance. Although it'll be pretty obvious if you read on.

Oh, and if you haven't read Mockingjay, well, there's a spoiler ahead. Not something with exact names, but I would warn you just the same.

{WARNING: SHAMELESS ADVERTISING}

Side note: Listen to the Hanna soundtrack from the movie, not the CD version, but from the movie. It helped me write this, you should hear it. Freaked me out, but got me off my lazy butt to write this sucker.

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Catalia pushed one of the many keys on the keyboard in front of her, on her own private computer. She had full confidence that she wouldn't be caught, after all, her own father had arranged for her to have a state-of-the-art one, that couldn't be traced, hacked, or spied on.

When it came down to it, the President really was an idiot.

She clicked a few times with the wireless mouse, and came upon the underground website she organized a few nights before, just after messing with the coding for the muttation that had yet to die.

In a moment, a screen flashed with a black background, and an illegal (Which was of course why they used it.) image in the center. A sophisticated graphic flashed and the golden ring caught fire, molten gold dripping offscreen as the circle that encased the mockingjay was gone.

She and Mauritia had decided to use the old rebellion symbol. They knew how much trouble being the official face of a rebellion had caused Katniss Everdeen, and what had happened to her, her spouse and their children in the end. They didn't want to put Natalya through the same process. She didn't have to dress up or act like someone she wasn't to be the face.

She didn't start the fire after all, Katniss hadn't either. They were both just sparks that ignited (or in Natalya's case, re-ignited) the inferno.

But this time, the fire was reborn in the Capitol. The Capitol was where it had begun, and the Capitol was where it would end.

The frozen golden image, a mockingjay with it's wings extended, a golden arrow in it's beak, sprang to life.

The virtual bird opened it's narrow beak, letting the golden arrow fly offscreen. It's golden, flaming wings flashed as it flew into the screen and vanished, leaving behind a small login entry box in it's wake.

Catalia grinned and typed in the key word, one only a few others in the entire nation, perhaps even what was left of the world, knew.

Something that only those who paid acute attention to a certain tribute could remember, as everyone else decided on the name the Capitol gave her.

Password: Belarus|

She hit enter, and the screen caught fire again. It changed though, from flames to embers, that disappeared and created a new appearance of the screen in it's wake.

It was their website, Mauritia and Catalia's. They had made it, a database for all the new rebellion needed to know. Now that the Districts were rebuilt and better since the last Rebellion, all now had computers, and a few had civilians with regular access to them. Which meant some could come and learn. Others would hear by word of mouth, no doubt, but if an official or a Peacekeeper would appear, all the rebellion and Anti-Capitol propaganda would vanish.

To anyone else, it would be just another One Hundredth Hunger Games fan-made website.

In front of her, there was a collection of links, one for the tributes and Games of the past, another for the one going on in the present. One for the Second Rebellion, or the Mockingjay Rebellion as they called it now. One on each District and the Capitol.

She entered a single discussion, and a barely audible gasp-turned-laugh escaped from her jaw, which hung limply on her face.

It was amazing how much their rebellion had grown.

Just yesterday, it was just her, Mauritia and their servants at the time of the creation.

Now it was over fifty members. Information traveled fast when Mauritia was around.

Fifty underground supporters. Fifty people, possibly more, who shared views and knowledge, who had the courage to step forward and be the leaders of a new world.

She looked through the names: friends and relatives in the Capitol, children of officials in the Districts, even ordinary people in the Districts with access to technology- namely Districts One, Three Five and Six as they were ones that had regular access to computers for their work, and apparently had them at home. Her eyes widened and an astonished smile lit up her face as her eyes scanned three in particular:

Andra Caesius

Diana Gurian.

Rissa Amni.

Three of the past Hunger Games victors, both still very young, had just joined the Rebellion.

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The Head Gamemaker smiled, her unnaturally red lips gleaming in the artificial light of her private office. Things were very interesting this year for the Games, that was for sure.

Many tributes were dead already, this was true, but those who were left stirred up plenty of drama without their influence.

Take the Natalya girl, her force field incident caused quite a bit of drama outside the Arena. Arria had become a huge part of betting pools, she had the looks, the smarts and the weapons to win the Games with her hands tied behind her back.

She smiled as she looked over at the silver-haired girl who sat in the chair in front of her elaborate desk. Her daughter had taken an interest in the Games lately, coming every day since the beginning to watch her mother work the controls.

As a result, her dear daughter now knew how to bring in sponsor gifts, edit the animal and plant behavior, the weather and even the ground itself. She knew how to slow and stop video feed and where the bodies went.

Heck, she had even, on the spur of the moment, shown her daughter what the final challenge would be. The muttations were coming along smoothly, the one grown from Rai's DNA planted in a cell and placed under hibernation, having finished it's development two days before. And a new one, of Opus, the District Twelve tribute, was developing in his own growth chamber rather quickly, his deadly, hawk-like claws forming as his black fur smoothened and grew, as his small, lithe frame developed in the top secret fluids that promoted growth at a fast rate.

Her gloved fingers glided over the controls. She was so pleased that her daughter had an interest in the Hunger Games. Perhaps she would grow up to surpass her, the thought was wonderful.

She didn't seem to be soldier material, like her father, head guard to the President, or her older brother, who had taken to following her husband around and copying him. The two had a lot in common with their parents, the Gamemaker realized with a glint of happiness in her amber catlike eyes.

It was everything she could have hoped for, a powerful position, a loving husband, a strong son and a devoted daughter that never complained, but always obeyed and followed her mother's wishes, all in the luxury that befitted them in the Capitol.

She excused herself for a few minutes from the control room, and left for the bathroom to fix her still-flawless hair and makeup. She adjusted her already perfect cosmetic application on her pale face, ran a comb through the cropped cherry colored hair for the millionth time that day, and returned ten minutes later.

She flashed a blinding white grin at her daughter, who had probably wandered around the room in her absence, having not been in the velvet chair she had been before, but closer to the main terminal of the office where most of the controls were, behind her ornate sepia desk. She was bent over, her large artificial red eyes glued to the scene ahead, monitoring the action in the Arena.

When she had just left, apparently an alliance had just been made, and three tributes were in close range of one another. One was tracking another, who was wandering towards the third, who was drifting in the same direction as the second. The Head Gamemaker's thoughts whirled.

Suppose that they collided. One, she knew had an instinct to kill, but shaped by madness.

The third mentioned earlier had one as well, but not one sharpened by mental state, but by experience, as if they knew what was coming, millennium before they were reaped, one that also promoted their survival. This tribute came out on top of every challenge thrown at them, and metamorphosis throughout the Games. They were most certainly a good pawn. And they had taken to the role so well.

The third had ones more recently acquired, certainly after the last year or so, but it was more of a survival instinct than one to kill.

Things were starting to get interesting.

The Head Gamemaker could have noticed the expression encrypted in her daughter's surgically applied red eyes, the ones she had chosen, seventeen years before when she was born. She could have looked at the corner of her desk, under the stone paperweight in the shape of the Panem Capitol seal for the telltale slip of paper that could have caused an uproar if word had broken out.

She could have noticed, if she looked past the artificial disguise she had molded for her daughter when she was a child, the look she had planned for the girl, the look in her eyes.

The tight set of her porcelain jaw, the shaking of her hands.

The tiny scrap of paper embedded in her right fist.

But she didn't. She had only eyes for the daughter she had always wanted, the child she molded from an ordinary baby. The girl who started with dull brown hair, with peachy skin, with almond-shaped dark brown eyes, with somewhat sizable proportions, a flat chest and crooked, jagged teeth.

The girl she gave long, luxurious silver hair that fell down past her waist. The girl she gave the great, flashing eyes of the creatures called tigers she had seen ancient photographs of, much like her own, but in the deep crimson of her own preference, rather than the vibrant gold of the Head Gamemaker's own eyes, from when she went through her gold phase at her daughter's age. The girl who's skin she had lightened to the beautiful pure white of a porcelain doll, as if the sun was not known to her. The girl who she had altered, to show off a false thin figure and sleek body. The girl who's breasts she had altered to make up for the extra fat she had siphoned out. The girl who's teeth were now long and beautiful, smooth on the outside, serrated on the in, lovely ivory fangs modeled after the tiger photographs she adored so much.

And even better, she had befriended Catalia Aurelius, the daughter of the president of their glorious nation, who her husband, and now her son, guarded with their lives. She had done it, no doubt, to gain respect from the leader, and for that, the red-haired woman was impressed.

No, the Head Gamemaker only saw what she wanted to see, and what she saw was a perfect daughter, who was devoted to succeeding her in the high position of Head Gamemaker, a daughter with no thoughts of her own, but to make her mother proud, to uphold her family's reputation, to oblige to everything her mother did for her, because it was her privilege as a citizen of the Capitol.

But one thing our dear friend the Head Gamemaker simply did not understand was that her dress-up doll could think for herself. She had the false breasts removed weeks before, and stuffed her shirt. She was planning to cut and dye her hair, and tan her skin, possibly get new eyes, as soon as it was all over. She was planning a rebellion with the President's daughter, and didn't befriend her because of the prestigious status, but because they both had overbearing parents and a strong sense of equality, freedom and justice. The woman didn't understand that her daughter, years before, had prevented the creation of Avoxes in her personal servants, just having them pretend to have their tongues ripped out. She didn't understand that her daughter wasn't planning to succeed her in the Gamemaking field, but was using the position to her advantage, to undermine the Games from the inside.

But let's get back to the story at hand, shall we?

The red-haired woman strode over to her daughter and leaned towards the screen, her thin fingers slithering like tiny serpents towards the keyboard, the skeletal appendages dancing across the keys, a tiny clicking sound becoming consistent as she typed in a command.

"Now then, Mauritia. What do you say we make things interesting?"

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Leon lay back in his bed with a heavy heart. He had surrendered the battle to continue watching, just after the boy from his District (What was his name, Opus?) died.

Guilt gnawed a nasty hole through his belly.

Why hadn't he made an effort to get to know the kid better? He was in the same class as Opus, and even shared a textbook with him once. But town kids stuck with town kids, the kids of people who worked above ground in the medicine fields or in shops, and the Seam brood stayed with their own coal-mining kind.

He had never imagined that Opus would get called into the games.

And worse, he had just stood there, watching. He had watched Gallia, Opus's little sister, get reaped. He had watched Opus join her. He had done nothing.

So why did it feel different this time?

He had done nothing before, when those he knew were called into the Games. He had felt sad, but relieved it wasn't him. Nothing more.

Perhaps it was the Quell that was getting to him or something. He would probably never know.

Leon rolled over, his sheets stretched awkwardly over him. He replayed the gruesome scene in his mind. The spear narrowly missing Opus's head.

The slash at his assailant's shoulder.

The accurate hits.

The bludgeoning, the torture, the demented destruction of a dying person. Someone he _knew_, and never cared about. Someone who he had always shunned and ignored...

The cannon.

Leon found himself shivering, tears rolling down his face. He hadn't cried before, so why now?

He found himself thinking about Gallia, his sister. She was so quiet, so scared, so shy when he knew her. But in the Games, she was a different person entirely. She was confident, kind, resourceful, empathetic. The dream little sister everyone wanted.

And now she was alone.

The thought of the girl without her brother pained him the most of all.

Then there were the other tributes...

Kiro, the nimble and intelligent girl who wasn't to be trusted. Terran, the strong District One muscle mass. Turin, the District Six psycho who had a disturbing, sadistic edge to his killings. Arria, the beautiful, seductive, intelligent girl who he feared most.

And Natalya. She was also beautiful, but not the type to win you over, as the interviews proved. She was hostile, quiet, determined, and strange. Yet she had such a high score in training, and he could see why.

She wasn't just beautiful, but smart and courageous. Natalya had the look about her that she had seen a lot, been through horrible things. But she persevered and the experiences gave her an inner strength. She had been shattered and reformed, broken. But she healed herself, no one was there to help her.

She had such a powerful advantage. That odd little fruit was so potent in it's healing abilities, that it could heal any wound, counteract any poison, and leave a person feeling alive. He could see the change in her as she ate it.

She was wounded fatally, dying at the bottom of the cliff. She looked like she had given up, and ate it as if she was to say, "I'm entitled to a last meal." And she had sliced the beautiful silvery white hair off. Now it was short, ragged and gave her a dangerous look. The token, a beautiful silk ribbon, left with it, scattered by the wind.

She had taken a single bite, and looked right up into a camera, and held her middle finger high as she fell into unconsciousness. He presumed it was a sort of insult, a slap in the face to everyone watching.

But she woke, and she seemed alive and awake, more so than when she entered.

He decided at that moment, that she was who he wanted Gallia to join with, that she was the one he would root for, despite her roots in the Capitol.

_Natalya,_ he thought. _You have my support._

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The Nordic nation paced irritably in circles.

To be frank about his mood, he was pissed.

First Mr. Puffin flies off and abandons them through a crack in the window, then Sealand gets the runs from something they pulled up from a fat guy walking out of McDonald's with that pole (Although his reaction was pretty damn hilarious), and now there were all these damn commercial breaks...

One of them had a pink fluffy miniskirt on them that Poland fainted from happiness from.

To be more precise, he passed out on top of Lithuania, and the Baltic nation was caught by surprise, falling over backwards in his chair.

Hungary and Japan begun taking pictures. Fast.

Iceland shook his head angrily. He was missing the chance to visit the phallus museum he had worked so hard to create, and deposit a new specimen of his. But now, he had lost it.

When Denmark and Prussia had gotten _really_ drunk (More than they usually were) from the seemingly never-ending supply of beer in the closet, they had started pushing him around, and when Norway had stepped in to stop them, a huge fist fight broke out. No one knew how, but when the smoke cleared, Germany had a black eye and was about to throttle everyone, Norway was asphyxiating Denmark with his tie, and Iceland had lost the new specimen. The funny thing was, Germany was on the other side of the room at the beginning, and the fist fight took less then two seconds to break out. At this point, things couldn't get stranger.

But then, oh then, he turned and looked around him.

One thing that really stood out to him was that it was so quiet, he could hear a pin drop. It was always so loud and boisterous at world meetings, but since everyone figured out it wasn't a prank (Which took a while for some of them...) everything got disturbingly silent. Of course, there were the usual issues, but no one was talking.

Korea was groping a struggling China, with Taiwan standing nearby getting a dark aura that enveloped her being. Hong Kong stared blankly ahead without acknowledging the ominous aura or the breast-violation around him. Poland was still passed out on Lithuania, who was trying to get out from under the cross-dressing nation with little success. Japan and Hungary weren't letting this chance go to waste. America, Denmark and Prussia, as well as the ridiculously drunk Ireland, Scotland and England were having a burp-off. So far, America was winning. Apparently, fast food was good for something. Sealand was still on the toilet, with Finland looking nervously in with a disturbed look in his eyes.

Germany was staring at his black eye in the mirror, while Italy flitted around nervously, _Ve-ing_ nonstop. Romano was measuring the sleeping Spain's neck, then applying the same measurements to a rope from a fallen chandelier from when America begun swinging back and forth on it. Iceland didn't question it. Norway had done the same thing to Denmark an hour ago, but decided his tie was more convenient.

That polar bear Kumajiro was still floating. The African, South American and island nations were all asleep in a gigantic huddle. Pretty much everyone else had picked up on a game of poker. America had taught them when he was somewhat sober.

Switzerland was smoking everyone while Lichtenstein looked on, and thus the Euro crisis was created. (Though the money didn't go all to Switzerland of course.)

A putrid stench shifted from under the bathroom door, and everyone moaned and plugged their noses. A moment later, Sealand emerged looking pretty proud of himself.

Finland grabbed a gas mask that for whatever reason was in Ukraine's seemingly bottomless handbag (She had said something about being leftover from Chernobyl or something, Iceland had asked her at a previous world meeting. Ukraine had said she needed to give it back to Belarus but hadn't gotten the chance yet), and bravely stalked into the bathroom.

Sweden grew tense as almost ten minutes went by. Strange gurgling sounds came from inside the door, but nobody had the nerve to open the door and face the stench. Ukraine had only packed one gas mask.

Then, a loud _whoooosh_ came from the inside of the room, the smell ceased, and Finland pranced out with the best fake smile he could make, wielding a... 'dirty' plunger. A gun pointed at his head by Switzerland sent the Finn to put the plunger back before bouncing out to join the others.

Iceland scanned the nations, pretty much all the world excepting Belarus and a few nations he still didn't know the names of, the latter had gotten bored early on and left.

For a while now, he had the oddest premonition that something was missing...

As he took it all into account, he realized with a jolt what it was.

The doors were still bolted shut, he was sure of that. There were no places where the nation in question could hide without being detected by Iceland in his convenient corner, the windows had the strange metal latticework. There was no way out.

But yet, the nation was missing.

But how?

Iceland's dark violet eyes widened as he looked around vainly for the nation who wasn't there.

Russia was gone.

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Reina smiled eagerly on the edge of her seat as she watched the recap of the Games. They had just finished the announcement of the next interviews of the friends and family of the tributes still remaining, stating that everything had gone so fast, they hadn't gotten a chance to get commentary on the final eight, so the final six was now undergoing.

Her puffy fuchsia hair bounced around her head as she leaned forward when the seal of the Capitol appeared on the screen and the anthem of Panem played once more.

They had already shown the first few: Arria and Terran's District One families were betting their money on the two tributes and were proud of them, Kiro's District Three parents were just as evasive as she, but had their intentions clear. Turin's brother was pale faced, his dad had clenched fists and his mother was weeping.

Then commercials appeared and of course, Reina was annoyed.

But here we had the final two, unnamed. Gallia of District Twelve and Natalya from the Capitol.

Caesar Flickerman, his final Games to be hosting, according to the rumors, was ageless as ever. His eyes, purple rimmed, crinkled in confusion as he read off of a piece of paper.

"... Apparently, ladies and gentlemen, the family of our favorite District Twelve tribute Gallia isn't here for comment. Such a pity. Let's move on to the final interviews of the night! Citizens of Panem, please put your hands together for Ivan Braginski, older brother of our Capitol tribute, Natalya!"

Reina narrowed her copper tattooed eyebrows in confusion. Why didn't Gallia's family come forward? But what was still working upstairs (Though there wasn't much of it...) drifted to the handsome young man who stepped onto the stage, and reclined in one of the interview chairs. His violet eyes that seemed more natural than implanted, gleamed in the light.

"So Ivan," Caesar begun. "How do you feel about your sister being in the Games?"

The man had a sudden, childlike expression to his face. "It is... interesting, _da_?"

"How was it, to know that your little sister was going to the Games, to participate in such an honorable, prestigious event?"

"I was confused at first," the mysterious, handsome man responded, his violet eyes glowing not with warmth, but _cold_, an aura of pure ice. "But then I knew that she was going to be fine. My sister, she is not one to go down easily."

"Oh really..." trailed off Flickerman as he shifted in his seat awkwardly.

"Da, really..." Ivan answered icily, a dark, ominous glow appearing in his gaze.

"Uh..." Caesar stuttered then recovered quickly. Reina thought she could see his breath in the air as he shivered slightly. "How does it make you feel, that she cannot have sponsors because of the lack of a mentor?

"Does it make any difference?" the young man said in a tone that let on that there was more to it than it seemed he was telling them, vague as he was.

"How do you feel about her odds now?" Caesar persisted, trying to let his usual suave self cover up the creeped out look on his face, "Several worthy opponents have already appeared. Do you think she can take them? And will she ever ally herself with someone?"

Ivan grinned childishly, but Reina was put off by the menacing aura that surrounded him. The guy looked like he wanted to tear everyone's heart out rather than be happy about something. "I believe my sister is capable of much, she has proven so in the past. Everything I and others have thrown at her, she has fought ferociously to make it through, though often, she did not succeed. But no one has experience like my sister, and she can and will take them on, and come out on top. But I doubt she will find an ally. She is most likely to kill them."

For once, Caesar Flickerman was silent.

Then, the man grinned and leaned forward. "Become one with Mother Russia, _da_?"

Caesar backed himself up, cornered by his chair.

Suddenly, Ivan twitched slightly, and a red organ simply fell out of his chest and into his lap, pulsing. Screams sounded in the background, probably from the live audience that usually watched the interviews of the relatives. Someone was screaming, "GET HIM TO THE HOSPITAL, NOW! HIS HEART FELL OUT!"

The man's dark aura amplified, his purple eyes glowing as his childish smile grew, as if he didn't notice the seeping red organ throbbing in his lap. and a strange noise came from his mouth, something like, "__..."

Then, the screen flickered to a fuzzy backdrop, a computerized woman's voice said, "We are experiencing unprecedented technical difficulties. Please stay tuned for more of the Hunger Games shortly."

It looked like the interviews were done.

Reina stared for a while at the fuzzy screen, then was distracted by a friend calling on the intercom to discuss the looks of the families of the remaining tributes. They were rather plain, she had noticed, but the eyes Ivan had were definitely interesting. Simple, but handsome and mysterious and deep.

Perhaps she'd arrange for a surgeon to implant them in her own during his next opening for an appointment.

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Catalia was seated at the computer, typing away. Already, hundreds of people, past victors, officials and their families, people rich enough to afford computers, were joining, saying there were more who surrounded them. Protests were being organized, and were about to take place all at once. That way, the rebellion wouldn't appear to have originated somewhere, and after all, the Capitol couldn't bomb all it's Districts. Though if they did, the spirits of the departed would have a kick out of watching those fat freaks figure out how to fend for themselves.

"Cats!" Mauritia called out as she skidded to an ungraceful halt, her chest heaving as she held up a small slip of paper in her fingers.

The girl in question sprung to her feet, and walked over to her exhausted friend, and her purple eyes inspected the piece of paper. "...Yeah?"

"You're not gonna believe this." Mauritia gasped as she fell back onto the lush velvet couch of Catalia's massive bedroom. And by massive, we mean that the entire town square of District Twelve could fit in it. Twice.

"What?" asked the President's daughter as she abandoned her place at the computer and dashed over to her reclining friend. "Spit it out!"

"I'm exhausted," she moaned. "I feel like I ran across the nation."

"You ran from the Head Gamemaker's room to mine, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. But sprinting down hallways that are ridiculously long, and riding that elevator for five hundred floors will do that to you."

"Will you just get on with what you wanted to say?"

"Fine, but what I just found out... This is crazy..." muttered Mauritia.

"WHAT! WHAT IS CRAZY!" Catalia's voice amplified ridiculously, causing Mauritia to jump a foot into the air.

"What was that for?" she grumbled as she produced a small, folded rectangle of paper from her palm. "Here, read this." She pressed the slip of paper into the other's hands.

Carefully, as if performing plastic surgery, the girl unfolded the paper piece, and read the neat, printed words on it aloud.

"Catalia Aurelius." she read, a slight confused tone surfacing in her Capitol accent. Then it sunk in, "Oh my..."

"Exactly," Mauritia piped up from her awkward position on the ample velvet cushions. "It was you who was reaped, not Belarus."

"So, they replaced me with her?" Catalia guessed.

"I suppose so. Guess they didn't want an uproar if the President's daughter got pulled into the Games, now would they?"

"I guess not. But it makes me feel really guilty, I mean, it should be _me_ in the arena, not Belarus. It's my fault she's in there, and it'll be her blood on my hands if she dies. And if she wins and figures it out, and blames our family before the rebellion is over..."

Mauritia bolted upright, strode over to Catalia, grabbed the girl by the shoulders, and looked her in the artificial eyes with a burning gaze amplified by her implanted tiger eyes. "_It's. Not. Your. Fault._ If anything, it's their fault. Our families, the people who want to keep Panem the way it is, who want to make the Districts suffer at our expense. Not yours."

Catalia shook her head, and stared down at the slip of paper. "Let's show it to the site," she finally spoke a few minutes later. "If anything, it'll make them more spirited."

"Brilliant idea." piped up Mauritia as the two friends headed over to the sophisticated computer, to fan the flames of rebellion.

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I wandered through the woods, not sure of what to do next.

What my old self would have done was to hunt down my opponents and kill them immediately, take the victory, and figure out how to get back to where I had originally come from as soon as I could.

But now...

Now, I definitely wasn't Belarus, or at least, the Belarus the nations knew. I wasn't going to go back to my brother, I was no longer a personification of a country, but a human being.

And my views had changed. Did it really matter if I survived? That I'd just go back and assume the same life with no purpose, or remain in this strange place called Panem, and live out a meaningless life doing the same thing? If I did become a permanent resident of Panem, would I get pushed into doing that tour thing that the team of freaks and weirdos that dressed me up like a porcelain doll were going on and on about, in that nails-on-a-chalkboard accent of theirs that pissed me off so much.

Or was it better if I died here? That I refused to go back and chose to be killed. No, that would show my weakness to the world, not just the nations, but Panem as well. And I did not want to be remembered as the girl who just suddenly caved in and died. Perhaps... No, suicide would only betray the darkest thoughts that haunted me several times every day when I was a nation. I refused to give up.

So what now? Do I win, and just... kill myself immediately? That would be an idea, to show I won, and refuse the title as victor. Or I win and refuse to go back. Stay in the arena until I die. That would be a possibility.

But a sudden snap behind me jolted me back into reality.

Hunger Games, right. Someone following me, right. Cameras waiting for my expression, right. Let's give them something to look at. Surely they're scanning my emotions, broadcasting them across wherever the hell I was. _Will Natalya freak out, or not? What is in her head?_

I've been a pretty good actor in the past, let's see how this one goes. I narrowed my large eyes, and twitched my lips ever so slightly, then flew sideways and took off running into the undergrowth. Fast, faster, fastest I could go. Fast as the wild bison that roam my national forests, fast as the red deer, fast as the wolves hunting them.

I could feel an adrenaline- driven smile appearing on my face, my silvery hair, now shaggy and short, flying behind me as I leaped over small bushes and stones and roots like a wild deer evading capture. I was feeling a strong wind at my back, propelling me forth, an icy wind that instilled extra energy where I burned it away.

I grinned devilishly and let my blue eyes flash in the sunlight. Let them see it, I decided. Let them think what they want.

I did not try to look back, a basic rule of survival I knew. Looking back would distract me from my goal: to escape. Even if they gave up, I'd still run and run until I dropped from exhaustion.

I twisted and turned, made random hairpin and ninety degree turns, flinging branches backwards. If my enemy was close, then they would deter them, if not, then they would simply allow a path of fallen needles and leaves.

No matter, I wanted this chase to continue. I wanted the rush, I wanted the powerful feeling. No longer was I the hunted, the prey. I was the killer here. I would choose when to eliminate, and when to give up the chase, not my pursuer. To the world, I was hunted, fleeing for my life, a defense mechanism, making my chaser confident and prone to error. But to me, I was running to keep a few steps ahead of the game, to keep the audience guessing.

_Let them come, _I thought, high off of the rush. _Let them find me._

I rounded a corner, and stopped, dead in my tracks. Here was where I would confront them, here was where we would decide who would live, and who would die.

I dragged in massive lungful after massive lungful of chilly air, savoring the life each breath gave to me. I walked towards a large tree at the edge of the clearing, turned around, and waited.

I heard them before I saw them. Soft but still detectable footsteps tapping against the forest floor, crunching against the leaves, which were still fried from the lava. This, I had known from the start. I knew now, exactly where they were.

I drew my knife, the massive black blade faithfully held in my right hand, awaiting it's duty. Even in it's imperfect state, it had killed and saved my life. It had fed me, killed for me, and would continue to do so. Even though I had the bow and arrows, I would never use them as much. I had made plans to send the weapons up with the next tribute I killed.

The leaves stopped, and I watched, my face impassive, at the slight ripple of shadow. The shape was small and slight, certainly not the tall Arria or a strong and powerful boy. But it did not ease me, because I knew that though size mattered in battles of strength, it didn't win the war. It looked most likely like a girl, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. A small, skinny boy may have survived and I wouldn't know it, after all, I was ignoring the Capitol seal and anthem now.

They had no meaning to me at this point.

I raised my large dagger, the serrated stone tip pointing right at the shadow person, still with the slight stain of blood from something or someone I killed. It was hard to keep track of which stain was which. The silver wire was coiled to my wrist, fastened to the hole in the handle.

I silently challenged the person to come out, to face me. If one of us was going to die, we may as well make it a show.

But my eyes widened slightly as the glint of metal was visible for a split second. I suddenly had a premonition, a feeling within, that I needed to duck.

Now.

I pulled myself downwards, as far as I could go, my feet purposefully sliding out from under me. Perhaps less than a second later, a silvery flash flew above me and buried it's sharp point into the tree, perhaps a foot above my head, propped up against a gnarled tree root that forced me into a sitting position, going against the position I had originally planned.

My eyes wandered up to the weapon that would have gone straight through my heart.

_Ah, so this is who it is,_ I thought.

I flicked a silver wire, and it shot forth with my knife, flying into the trees, rather low, perhaps at knee level.

A surprised cry and a thump were clarification as I reeled in my line, so to speak.

My suspicions were confirmed as I saw the person I had snared.

"Fancy meeting you here," I said in an icy calm voice, my intentions unclear, as I leaned over my captive.


	12. Friendship

Okay, wow. I haven't updated in a while... But at any rate, it's here now, right? And besides, I've spent spring break in a place with no Internet. A week with laptop withdrawal.

And in other news... I've been freaking out since my mom took me to The Hunger Games movie. I accepted a lot about the changes in the plot, I mean Suzanne Collins helped write the script so it can't be that bad, and my only pet peeve was the mutt scene. I was about to blank that out, but heck, we all read the book, we know the mutt scene is pretty intense.

The movie didn't get the mutts right.

The chase was just epic, but the mutts themselves weren't that good. All I can say, so...

Chapter twelve is here, which means we're reaching the end, just two chapters left... Plus an epilogue. And things are narrowing down fast, only two tributes will be left standing very, very soon. And a plan that messes with the final challenge of the Games will be set into motion.

I also took a lot of time to write and rewrite the scenes later on, I just can't seem to get them right.

And yes, my dears, we have another cliffhanger. Because I'm a psychopath in my little corner.

One more thing, I will end up changing the name of this fanfic by the end. None of my titles are ever so permanent. It'll still be the same thing, but a different name.

** Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games or Hetalia... Yada yada yada. And all that crap.**

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I grinned cryptically down at the wide-eyed individual who's leg I had ensnared in the wire I kept at hand. My trusty dagger in hand, I traced it lightly over her throat, a thin line of skin breaking and small beads of dark red blood appearing in the slit.

Slowly, gently, I pulled the knife away. It was not going to kill her, but it made my intentions clear: Try anything and I'll kill you.

Quoth the knife, not me. I had come to believe that it had a mind of it's own now. The tension it gave off as I gripped it told me somehow whether I should kill or not. It hadn't said no yet. But it hadn't said yes either.

I walked calmly over to the tree, and pulled the leather-encrusted handle of the throwing ax out, and tossed it back to the girl. By then, she had pulled herself to her feet and was staring warily at me, her form distorted in the most-likely-artificial mist, drifting in rapidly from the east, through the wind that caused the barren branches to creak.

It appeared that she had lost one of her axes, or had it stolen. She gripped it so tightly that her small knuckles turned white.

The girl seemed uncertain, whether to run or fight. Though I had made it clear that I could kick her ass if it came to the latter. She knew I was cunning, that I was swift, that there wasn't a way out for her.

We both knew that odds are, all cameras were on us. The world was watching this play out live. The outside probably knew of me as a rebellious, feisty killer, and as for her, well, the girl, District Twelve I believe, was pretty much a mystery.

Except for her name: Gallia (To me it seemed oddly familiar, perhaps she shared a name with one of France's distant ancestors or something. I wouldn't know about naming customs in the world of Panem though. I just wanted to... well, to be honest, I didn't know anymore. But naming customs didn't seem that important at this point in time.).

And since the boy who came with her was so similar, I surmised he was her brother, I knew he was the one who had died. Even though I don't look at the sky anymore.

I could relate to Gallia, both of us had elder brothers who we would clearly stick by, either by love or by design. I was envious, I will admit, of their relationship. The two District Twelve tributes were siblings who went in together, and stayed together with no betrayal until one died. The ultimate test for love between siblings probably was the Games after all, at least in this world. But unfortunately, I don't believe I would have had the exact feeling as she did towards her brother.

It was true that he had saved my life, nursed me to health, defended me and fought to take me back, but hadn't I been caught in the crossfire of all the wars he'd been in? I always had been just another battleground, my fields were stained with blood, though it's just me who can see it.

Those days leading up to that world meeting that lead to my entrance to the wonderful world of teenage fighting, I spent more and more time away from my brother. I went into my national forests, but the uneasy feeling that lurked within remained, so I wandered off to the place set aside by both me and my sister, Ukraine.

The place known as the Chernobyl Zone of Alienation. I had always felt drawn to the strange place, where time just suddenly stopped for humankind, and that of the wild forces of nature accelerated. And since a greater percent of the fallout came to me, I suppose that I had grown a tolerance for the slowly decreasing radiation over the years. Or at least the pain I endured over a thousand years numbed me to it's effects.

There, I would watch the civilized world rot away, and be replaced with beautiful, wild world that had been forgotten by humankind for so long.

It was the only place where the voices that whispered in the trees didn't torment me. They were silenced by the radiation, by the peace and wild beauty of the place. Where the vacant buildings echoed, I found the blessed silence I had long forgotten. There, I had no need to worry about my brother and what he may do, what other countries may think, what my dictator would plan next. It was a place where I could be in touch with this ancient side of myself, one that felt so... lost. I had the slightest wisps of memory, of being a small child and feeling this way, but watered down like I was missing some of it, as it was now, just before the human race itself rediscovered us. Being with my brother and sister and no one else. Wandering the land and never growing old.

But buried even deeper within, in a part of my mind that had locked itself away, I had this premonition that once, a time so long ago that clocks cannot measure it, that the feeling I felt while I was a tiny child, in a world of white that was bone-numbingly cold. That once, I huddled with my siblings in the frozen embrace of the root of a tree, watching our lips turn blue, our fingers and toes become black. That was when I had felt that sensation in it's fullest. I suppose it's the closest I had been to, or perhaps once I was...

Human.

Being in that place, which had made me so sickly and hurt for a long time, that I had numbed myself to by now, it brought out a real feeling.

It was surfacing again, but still in it's dreamlike, censored state. Not wild and untamed and _real_.

Not yet.

The feeling told me that what I felt for my brother, for every nation I knew, every opinion on everything I had, they was not mine. I was like a pawn, to personify the wishes and dreams of the people of a nation, to bear the beatings of war, to feel the pain of having the environment deteriorate within my body. But it was okay at first to me, I had been so used to being annexed, being pulled into everything crossing my borders, being destroyed and reborn again and again and again.

I, like all nations, was once a human being. But something happened, when I was so small, countless years ago, and I do believe that I died.

Only for a moment.

But then, I woke up, and I had been this way ever since.

And being in this Arena, in the Hunger Games, I believe it had stripped me of my burden as a nation. No longer did I speak Belarusian nor Russian, or the Polish and Ukrainian that I knew from a few of my minorities. Perhaps I didn't even speak English at this point, but whatever the language of Panem was, though I don't recall ever learning anything. No longer did I have a love for my brother, no longer did I desire to be part of him, as the delusions I forced myself to believe were long gone.

To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would ever want to leave. If I did, would I be back to the beginning?

But I didn't want to distract myself. As I was becoming human by then, I wondered, _Do I really want to be the nation Belarus, or the name given for the sake of being incognito in public, Natalya Arlovskaya? Do I want to kill her, give the people what they want and expect, live up to the reputation I gathered among the nations? Or should I do something crazy? Play with their minds, be someone else. The person I may have become if I hadn't become a nation somehow? _

I decided.

The girl, Gallia, must have been pondering something along the lines of,_ Kill her or not? _

We seemed to be on the same page.

So naturally, we came to an agreement, with nothing more than looking into one another's eyes for around ten seconds.

Step by step, we circled each other, poker faces initiated. Weapons tense in our hands, steps light and quick, eyes fixated on each other, we looked like we were about to have a bloody and brutal duel for the purpose of the entertainment of the masses.

A minute of circling. The audience was biting their flashy twenty-inch nails by now, I guessed, poised off the edge of their cushy seats. I had no clue what my former colleagues, the nations, were doing, but since I doubted they liked me at all, since I had nothing to offer and not much to enjoy, they were probably rooting for Gallia.

Then, a slight blink in her large leaf colored eyes, boldly contrasting with the smoky white of the mist. I returned it, two slow bats of the eyelashes, too slight for anyone to notice unless they knew what they were looking at.

And we rushed straight at one another, and the clash of stone against steel shattered the eerie silence.

When the mist ceased it's whirling, I was an inch away from the girl's face.

I could see minute scratches and bruises, the countless smudges of dirt that outlined it, coloring what had once been olive skin into an uneven, mottled brown that nearly matched the bark of the surrounding trees. Deep shadows, records from nights of no sleep, shaded in her haunting, wide green gaze, something you'd see on a small child, not an adolescent who is in a hellish place of teenage gladiators. There were a few leaves caught in her long dark hair, the way it curved suggesting that it had once been tied back in a braid, but the scorched ends and slight smoky aroma told me that it had been seared off in the blaze that took our tribute count down drastically, and that destroyed so much of the forest, transforming lush green hideaways into spooky skeleton realms.

It alarmed me, how much she looked like Lichtenstein. She was so small and petite, as if a gust of wind could have swept her away, and she'd be gone. That she looked no older than a ten year old girl, her eyes large and haunting like those of a deer in the headlights. She seemed so helpless, and gave off a feeling of protectiveness, you had to look out for her no matter what. Yet I knew that she was quite capable of caring for herself, and cracking open a can of whoopass when the situation demanded it.

But she was still just a kid. A scared little girl who probably just wanted to go home.

I could hear the unsteady, ragged breaths she took, frequent and uneven, like my own. We both had this place take a toll on us in the past. We both were near our breaking points as it was.

So it couldn't hurt for now to have an alliance, even though there were so few of us left. It never was too late to start something new.

I slowly withdrew my dagger from her ax, letting it drift at my side. Someone had to take the first step, and I decided that, as a human, I'd try this first, to see if it would work.

She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. You could have heard a pin drop on the other side of the arena, only the birds were singing softly and the wind whispered through the scorched branches.

Then, I extended a scarred hand, and decided to get to the point. I briskly, unceremoniously said: "Look, we both know that only one of us is going to make it through, and we have all the reasons to kill each other right now. But I don't want to give these sickos the satisfaction. You in or what?"

She seemed... surprised at first, but a white grin that stood starkly against the dirt streaking her face appeared. A small, delicate hand made it's way into my own, and we shook on it.

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"Okay... You are from District Twelve, and your primary industries are coal mining and medicine, though mining is an older and more common tradition, so odds are that you would grow up to mine rather than work in the fields. Am I correct?"

It was kind of spooky, really. One minute, we're about to kill each other, the next distrusting, and now we're like best friends. I wouldn't know though, I haven't really have had a best one before. More like my brother and those I have been conditioned to like.

But this time, it felt like it was me pulling the strings, me deciding what to do, me choosing the words that left my mouth and the thoughts running through my head.

"Yes." Gallia said, in the sweet little voice, another similarity to Lichtenstein, their voices. It would make her death all the more painful. "You've been listening to what they've been telling you, haven't you? I don't think you're actually from the Capitol though, something about you seems different than the Capitol people I've seen."

"I am not from the Capitol." I said calmly. "I'm not even from Panem, or whatever you call this place."

Gallia stared at me, then nodded slightly, like she accepted it. At this rate, we were probably going to die very soon, so why make up a lie about something like this at this point? She didn't question me any further, or talk, at least at the moment.

The two of us were walking through the skeleton forest, making our way west, to a place neither of us had explored.

We had, before we begun trekking, mapped out the arena. I showed her the limit of the force field, and she told me that it was designed in a circle, therefore we drew the outline. To the south were the grasslands where Gallia spent the majority of the Games, the southeast was where the cliff and the stone prison were, where I had almost died. To the east, furthest out, was the desert, and the suspiciously blue oasis, further into the arena was the pond where the lava sprung forth. To the north was the Cornucopia, and the lake to the northeast. Forest, much of it dead and nude from the fire, covered everywhere but the west, which was more rocky, with steep, grassy hills and only a few groves of trees here and there, with lots of precipices and cliffs to scale.

Both of us made it a point not to return to the Cornucopia, or the lake. The vine creature, she called it a muttation or a mutt for short, was threatening those who escaped in the lake, and the remaining Careers, the boy and Arria, both of District One, probably hung around there. There was another tribute that probably hid around there too, Gallia said it was a girl, who was probably from District 3. I contributed by remembering her name was Kiro. The grasslands weren't safe, as the insane boy Gallia was terrified of stalked that area, the boy who viciously killed her brother in a way that was too disturbing to think of. The closest I could think was of myself after the second World War. The desert was definitely out of option, as was the pond, since no one likes to be incinerated.

So of course, we went the direction no one seemed to go.

But it would take a while, perhaps a day. And a day seemed like a lifetime at this point.

We were in the eastern side now, traveling north. We planned to make a brief trip to the lake, to fill our canteens and drink, though I had another thing in mind.

According to the sun, several hours passed, and it really flew by. After roughly thirty seconds of awkward silence, we begun talking again.

I learned that she was a kid without a family, her parents both died before the Games, her brother meeting his demise in the arena. She came from the District that was rebuilt in a new location, north of where it used to be, since the original District 12 was bombed. That she learned about medicine from the herbs that grew in the fields that shared District 12's primary exports along with coal. Thus, the District became considerably richer, and was around with Districts 7 and 8 in terms of wealth, which meant more food and power that was more frequent.

But the downside to it was that the Peacekeepers- her equivalent of police officers- were harsher, and poaching and weapon harboring wasn't allowed anymore and was punished by brutal flogging in the central square; that the electric fence was almost always shocking to anyone. Many people attempted to leave the District, but everyone died, sizzling on the barbed wire. Though a pack of wild dogs, which according to her are basically multicolored wolves that may or may not have floppy ears in my terms, managed to find a way through. According to her thoughts, there may be a time in which the electricity in the fence gives out, but only for a short time. The wild dogs knew the time tables, and came and went as they pleased. They chased game into the District, and now several resident herds of deer were in the meadows outside the main part of the District, and every once in a while one would wander into the Seam, her version of whatever a ghetto is (America's used that term so much I've forgotten it's purpose.), and the people of the District would be permitted to kill it.

There were still food shortages, but not as many. Computers were used in the elite of the elite's homes.

Gallia, feeling quite alone since her brother begun working in the mines though he was underage, went off into the meadows and spent time cultivating her little illegal herb garden at ten, giving them to her brother (When he had time off) who would barter at a newly constructed black market. She also ended up befriending the wild dog packs, and gained their trust in a year, when she was eleven she was practically family. They showed her the time when the electricity was off, how to hunt, how to fight, to intimidate, and how to care.

Then, there came a time when she was twelve, and a sense of urgency propelled her. She started running faster and jumping further with the dogs, and tried out a variety of weapons. She had excellent aim, but didn't do well with small projectiles, she needed something that she could fling, not flick. And so she used a pickax, and found she was a natural. She slashed at grass effigies she constructed, she threw from a distance, and just plain hacked them. She practiced going without, leaning up and building her muscles, and exposed herself to the heat and cold of their summers and winters. She started following her brother to the black market, and watched bartering techniques, she cultivated herbs and hunted for edible plants, she ultimately practiced everything she could to prepare herself, out of fear.

And it paid off, because one year later, when she was thirteen, she was reaped into the one hundredth Hunger Games, the fourth Quarter Quell. And her brother joined her, volunteering, thinking he could protect her.

But Gallia ended up getting back into the old habit of letting him provide for her, and she seemed to forget what it was like fending for herself, and she just couldn't be alone anymore.

She told me about the Uprising, the Treaty of Treason, the Quarter Quell ideas. The Mockingjay Rebellion, and how dangerous it was. And how it could start again, very soon. That the birds who sang that four note call were mockingjays, and rebels were out there. That a tribute must have inspired them.

That the tribute was most likely me.

I fit all their qualifications. Smart-ass mouth? Check. Pretty? Check. Fierce with a heart? Check. Determined? Check. Sassy? Check. Alliance with the skinny little kid? Check. Bow and arrows? Check.

I fit the picture so well. I was going to be the next Katniss Everdeen, Gallia had presumed, I would be a pawn once again.

I wasn't going to let that happen. I just became my own person, and was on the way to figure out who I actually was, there wasn't a way in hell that I would go back to being a toy for some freaks.

And I in turn told her my own story, my belief about being human, then reborn as a nation. My experience as a warrior, my knowledge of the world within my boundaries, my endurance and durability. My fears.

That I was losing myself to Russia. That I was practically just another part of my brother.

Hell, even my name, 'Belarus', meant 'White Russia'. I was practically his territory even when I was separate from him, however briefly that lasted.

And for the sake of her curiosity, I told her about the last part of my past. When I was known as Polotsk, and in the brief time before I joined with my sister and brother, then known as Kiev and Rus', I was independent, and it was the only time when I was uninfluenced by anyone, not shaped to be something I was not (Though I didn't exactly tell her that I was an immortal who represented a country. That sounded ridiculous even to someone who once was one). I was as free as a human who became a nation could be.

And so, I spoke to her, about my new hatred for my names. "Gallia, please do not call me Natalya. That is the name I use when I am in public, under a front. Don't call me Belarus, because the name itself is speaking of my bondage to my brother."

She simply smiled at me, "I'll call you Polotsk then." Gallia replied. "You said yourself you felt as free as possible under that name, so that is what I will call you.

To that, I hugged her. The first one I had given to someone I truly cared about, not a facade or a false emotion.

I do not know how much time flew by after that, but we spent it talking as we walked, not caring who was there to listen. I learned about the Dark Days, the Treaty of Treason and how the Hunger Games came to be, the second rebellion twenty-five years ago, called the Mockingjay Rebellion. How the pawn, Katniss Everdeen just vanished shortly after that. Everyone seemed to know that she was dead, though evidence or a body never surfaced.

Gallia also told me about how the world came to be this way. "According to what we're told in school, the people started destroying everything. Then the ocean rose and covered a lot of the land because of something called global warming, and there was this huge war over what was left. Then, the world was destroyed, and Panem appeared."

So I was in the future, huh? I was confused, but retained my poker face. At this point, I didn't really care if I was in some sort of dystopian world. I'd be dead before long, who has time to worry about that?

And in turn, I told her about the past, where I was from, not telling it in those exact words about my personification life, and that I was formerly an immortal being from the past, but nonetheless. I told her about the wars, the deteriorating environment, the prejudice and hatred around me.

Then we shared our times in the Games.

It turns out that when the explosion went off, Gallia ran straight to the Cornucopia, since she'd seen people explode before in the mines, and it unfortunately numbed her to it's effects. She grabbed a pair of throwing axes, an oilskin water pouch and ran to her brother, who had stayed to the edge of the bloodbath clearing.

They made immediately for the grassland, recognizing some of the things there, and lived on a rock, found water, and hunted small mammals. Gallia befriended wild dogs, and for a while, all was well. Until the fire, when they were displaced but met up again. Then, not long after, he was killed and she met me. The rest was history.

I told her about all that I had been through, killing those kids, fighting the mutts, climbing trees and dodging lava balls from the sky. How I fell off a cliff and survived. Witnessing Arria murder Rai, her ally.

We agreed that Arria was possibly the most dangerous person in the arena. Though the one who killed her brother was batshit insane, Arria was the one who had the strategy, the gear, and the willpower to take everyone down.

And just like that, we were at the lake. We knelt to fill my canteen and her pouch, drinking jug after jug until we couldn't any longer.

I turned and looked at her. "Gallia?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if I..." I trailed off, gesturing to the bow and quiver of arrows on my back.

She nodded, smiling quietly. Gallia probably understood the hatred about being a pawn. Just by living in their Districts, and by living in these Games, she and everyone in Panem was a slave to the Capitol. Perhaps it's own citizens were that way, whether they realized it or not.

Gallia stood up, and disappeared just behind the tree line, to gather the blueberries that we left behind.

I stood up, and pulled off my pack, the bow and quiver of arrows pulled off as well.

I stared at the excess weapons for a minute, then threw them as far as I could into the lake, where a loud splash was audible. They sank out of sight.

_Sorry Panem, I'm not going to be your pawn._ _I'm not going to be a part of your little game._

_ And if I already am, I'm breaking the rules, making every foul I can, until either I win or lose._

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Romania was getting increasingly pissed.

First, Hungary ninja-kicks him out of the world meeting hall, then he grows unconscious for a while, then when he wakes up he discovers a foot-shaped bruise on his... Yeah... He also couldn't find his hat, which was lost in all the carnage (Namely, a Romania-shaped hole in the wall surrounded by a hell of a lot of debris broken off from the impact.).

And now, when he came back from trying to find a suitable weapon to go to town with that bitch, regardless if she was a woman or not, the door was locked.

Was this some sort of weird joke?

He tried everything to open it, from banging, to kicking, to screaming and cussing every foul word he'd ever caught wind of (In various different languages), to a hand grenade that Italy dropped earlier. The latter concerned him slightly, since Italy's grenades would go off at random.

It was sitting harmlessly on the floor under the door's large handles.

And that damn door still wouldn't open.

But there was a small hole that he could peek through.

He looked in, and dang, was he confused.

Then the Italian grenade decided it was an appropriate time to blow up, and Romania was blasted backwards.

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Catalia was hard at work.

She was editing the site in a frenzy, and removed the mockingjay logo. All traces of arrows were gone.

Mauritia had informed her about the latest turn of events, forbidden footage that was hurriedly changed to a place elsewhere, since it fanned the growing flames. Of their favorite tribute deciding to change her name to something she was once known as, of rejecting the former weapons of choice in the Rebellion.

Katniss Everdeen's time had passed. A new rebellion begun.

She started with changing the name of Belarus to Polotsk, and checked the member number.

Two hundred people with access to computers, more behind them. Most in the Districts, but the Capitol support was spreading like wildfire.

Wildfire...

_Perhaps fire is a consistent theme in Panem's rebellions,_ Catalia thought as her fingers flashed over the keyboard. _The first was inspired by the Girl on Fire, and she was the spark. Now, though it's died down to an ember, all you need is to fuel the dying cause to bring it to life again. This sort of fire will not die. It may die down, but never will it be extinguished. Not until Panem is free. For good this time._

An immortal fire...

Catalia had been reading some of the ancient history books in her room for the first time in what seemed like a millennium. She had come across a familiar figure, something known as a phoenix.

An everlasting bird made of flame. When it died, it vaporized into ashes, but it was reborn into a chick, which would grow from the ash, a lot like an ember, until the spark of flight ignites the inferno of it's life. It would never die, never be tamed, never be stopped unless it wanted to.

She supposed that it would seem sort of symbolic.

Rising from the ashes of oppression, all the phoenix chick needs to ignite an inferno, to begin it's life, is someone to fan the flames, to fuel the fire.

And the newly-self-named Polotsk was the one to do it.

She grinned as she referenced an illustration of a phoenix in the book as she created one on the screen, giving it an obsidian dagger in it's silver claws. It had shattered chain cuffs around it's wrists, a broken collar around it's neck. It had sapphire blue eyes and the very tips of the flames were silvery white, both contrasting with the yellow, orange and red flames of the bird itself.

Then, she animated it fully and watched it fly. Catalia added it to the website, re-doing it completely afterwards.

She would let the world decide what the symbolism meant.

Catalia grinned as she clicked 'Confirm Edit'.

The Mockingjay left ashes in her wake as she perished. The people of Panem needed a single beat of the wings, a simple rush to fan their fire. And the Phoenix did it.

Catalia suddenly saw a news feed from across the nation, at the top of the message board for the rebels. A riot in District Eleven broke out. Fire was set to the grain, to the buildings. The people were swarming the Town Hall, even Peacekeepers were powerless to the mob, some joining in.

There were strikes in Districts 3 and 6, and a riot in the plans in 7 and 8.

Catalia grinned.

The Phoenix's Rebellion had begun.

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He stalked.

He had been following them for a while now.

The voices told him where to go. They had just left the lake, he realized, they were traveling south again, and were in the grasslands.

So he followed.

He would avenge the death. He would serve justice.

He would obey the whispering voices.

He was so close now. Close enough to count the tears in their tattered clothes.

He stalked once more.

But the voices told him to go ahead and wait elsewhere, so he settled beneath a lone pine tree, in the middle of the grass, waiting.

He gripped the little throwing ax, the one he found after the fire, and imagined it sailing through the air, hacking a hole in that pretty little girl's chest. Her heart would be severed. Instant death.

The time was close. So close...

Step by step, he would be closer to his destiny.

Step by step...

Step by step...

Step by step...

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To be honest, I was a tad freaked out at the start, it seemed like a bit of an odd idea, riding a dog.

I had never been much of a rider, and wild dog-wolf-things the size of horses are no exception.

Yet I was on one, trying not to show my discomfort for the first hour or so, but now, I was actually enjoying it. The soft fur, the position that left me with my torso above the tall grass...

But I had this disturbed feeling. Something or someone was following us.

I shook it off, the Hunger Games would do that to you, you'd always feel like someone was there, ready to kill you. It would probably drive you crazy in the end. And I'd always been the crazy one. Though my memories were dark and warped, I refused my new existance as a human to be that way. No more paranoia now, thanks very much.

Instead, I focused on the moment right now. Both of us had filled our stomachs with wild berries, and encountered the dogs on the way back towards the grasslands. Our goal was to go west, now that the trip to the lake was done. I saw the gray whirling clouds that smothered the sky, with the tiny crack in them where golden late-afternoon sunshine floated ethereally downwards to the emerald forests on the earth below. The dog I mounted was the identical shade to Gallia's, both were a sandy brown color with large yellow eyes and ivory teeth. They seemed a lot like the ones that treed me and that boy with the sais back a while ago, but didn't seem to show it. They acted a lot more docile, their salmon tongues lolling out of their mouths.

I patted the back of my dog's head, and saw it's pointed ears swivel.

"Did you know," Gallia asked as she guided her dog up to mine. "That Caesar Flickerman's been doing the interviews for _ages_? He goes all the way back to before the seventieth Games."

"Holy crap. The wonders of plastic surgery." I responded. I wondered how many other secret old people there were in the Capitol. Myself included.

She started laughing. And in spite of myself, I joined in. One of us would be dead soon enough. May as well live the last days to the full. And did it feel good to laugh. I hadn't in such a long time.

Then, Gallia straightened up and looked me in the eyes, a mischievous glint in them.

"Race you to that tree?" she challenged, gesturing to a lone pine tree in the middle of the tall grass. _Oh, what the hell?_ I thought.

I sent a signal to my dog, and we sprang forward. "You're on," I called after her.

And we were off. No doubt that cameras were on us, but I didn't really care at this point. Let them see us. Let them realize that their attempts to break us were in vain. If anything, the Games had made me realize exactly what I was missing, and what I should be out there doing. I shouldn't have been stalking my brother, trying to learn of when he was going to annex me, or planning uprisings against my leaders that wouldn't take place, or even attending meetings that ran in circles. I shouldn't have hidden myself away behind a mask. It was gone now, and though I knew I would probably be dead soon, at least I got a chance to live how I should have.

I realized that Gallia passed me, and that we had nearly reached the tree. The dogs were barking at each other, and the one Gallia rode circled back, and matched my own dog's pace, stride for stride. I was on the outside, she was closer to the tree.

It appeared that they wanted to run together, so we let them. We were smiling and she was laughing softly as we finally reached the tree. That was when the dogs slowed to steady walks, then halted altogether, saliva strands glistening in the corners of their black lipped mouths. Mine reared up on it's hind legs and walked backwards for a few steps, it's front paws waving the air, a way reminiscent of a horse rearing. The wind picked up and the sun appeared in front of us.

It was a moment that was perfect, absolutely perfect.

_Nothing can ruin this,_ I thought. _No one's around to hurt us, and we're safe._

I couldn't have fathomed how wrong I was.

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Arria grinned.

It was so easy to trick this simple-minded idiot, it almost wasn't fair. But there were no rules to the Hunger Games contestants besides the single one. It was unspoken, unstated, but implied by everyone. The mentors, the sponsors, the Capitol's citizens, even those back home in their Districts.

_ Do what you will. Show no mercy._

She added the second sentence to it, it sounded more dramatic.

Arria dug through the ground, just under the boulder, the idiot standing by. He had this little crush on her, that was true. And it was useful, so she would have him go on with it. It cemented their alliance, however long it may last.

She grinned as she pulled out a small packet of powder. She knew what it did, from a note on a silver parachute she received at the beginning.

She pocketed it, and called for her ally, or rather her little servant.

Arria led the way into the woods, and he followed.

Kiro's time was running out.

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_When can I? _He asked the voices. _They're right here! It'd be so easy to just take her out now._

_ No,_ the voices told him sternly, ordering him in a calm, precise way._ You must wait. Wait until we tell you you may kill her. _

_ Why? _He asked. The boy was confused, why must he wait? He obeyed them all this time, when they told him he must wait. He did everything they asked of him. He stopped eating and drinking, only once a day in tiny amounts. He barely slept and continued following the path that was ordered of him.

_ You will understand soon._

_ As you wish, _The boy obeyed. _But if I may, might I ask how long I must wait?_

_ Not long... _The voices mused. _Her time is coming soon. You will have all you have asked for then._

_ Thank you. _The boy expressed his gratitude to the voices. They provided everything he needed. But in his delusions, he didn't hear the next thing the voices had said, before he thanked them:

_ Yours is too._

_::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_

The dogs were gone now. We had dismounted them and they simply melted into the tall grass. Gallia said that we could never hang on to them for long. Now, we were sitting on the ground.

I had grown so fond of her. Gallia was practically like Ukraine at this point, but she didn't care about me because of the obligations our nations shoulder onto us, but as an actual person. We shared absolutely everything, or at least she did with me. I still had withheld one piece of information.

The fruit.

The one that brought me back from the brink of death.

Secretly, I had smacked myself in the head because I forgot to destroy it with the bow and arrows, and I planned to dispose of it as soon as I could.

It was something that I could just forget, that would be better off forgetting.

Gallia turned to me and I was shaken out of my trance, finding I was staring at my backpack.

She didn't seem to notice it, as I looked at her just after, and we kept a silence a bit after that. Just us in the shadow of a tree.

Then, she broke it up by looking at me.

"You know," she said as she fiddled with a strand of shorter grass. "I don't really sing that much."

This was a bit surprising to me. "Me neither." Sure, I had a fondness for rock music, but I suppose that was my country speaking.

"There's this one I'm thinking of now," she continued. "People started singing it a few years after the disappearance of Katniss Everdeen, and when the Games started again. At some point, a bunch of Peacekeepers told someone in the Capitol about it, and they banned it. But I know all the words, or I think I do."

What kind of government bans music? Oh yeah.

"I can relate," I added, feeling the sharp edge of her small throwing axe carefully. It would need to be sharpened soon. "Why don't you tell me it?"

She nodded and leaned forward.

_ " 'Come in, come in, my father dear_

_ And spend this hour with me,_

_ For I have a meal, a very fine meal,_

_ And I fixed it up for thee, thee,_

_ I fixed it up for thee.'_

_ 'No, I ain't coming in, no I ain't coming in,_

_ To spend this hour with thee,_

_ For I have to go down in the mines._

_ I'll return this night to thee, thee,_

_ I'll return this night to thee.'_

_ Did she got up her arrow and bow,_

_ Her arrow and her string._

_ And she go down to the forest deep,_

_ And sweetly did she sing, sing,_

_ And sweetly did she sing._

_ Up spoke, up spoke a mockingjay,_

_ Out from a willow tree._

_ Saying, 'You had a father in the mines_

_ Who's gone this day from thee, thee,_

_ Who's gone this day from thee.'_

_ 'Woe be, woe be, mockingjay,_

_ Woe be, woe be to thee._

_ I'll send an arrow through your heart_

_ For to bring such news to me, me_

_ For to bring such news to me._

_ Up spoke, up spoke that mockingjay,_

_ 'Don't waste your time with me._

_ Go home and mind that pretty little girl, _

_ Her father no more to see, see_

_ Her father no more to see.'_

_ And she went home to her house that night._

_ That house so cold and mean,_

_ And she held her sister close to her side,_

_ And never more did sing, sing,_

_ And never more did sing."_

She finished. Her voice was soft and quiet, as if she was afraid that someone would hear her, which considering that we were in a televised fight to the death, would probably be true.

I decided that, should I get out alive and somehow go back to my previous life in the past, I would publish this song. I knew how closely it tied with the Mockingjay's backstory and previous life, according to what Gallia told me, and it was spooky.

For a while, we were silent.

Then, I spoke up. "That was beautiful."

She smiled shyly, her matted bangs in her face. "Really?"

"I do not joke anymore."

She didn't retaliate or respond, and just took it in.

We stood up, wordless, and I gathered my backpack.

Then, I turned to get the fruit from the pocket of it.

I pulled it out and made a move to ask her to get rid of it, but then I had a disturbing feeling.

Like we were being watched.

I had grown accustomed to it for a while now, since we were televised for a lot of the time, but this was different, a more different type of creepy feeling. This was one that was more direct, as if someone had their eyes on me without my knowledge.

It couldn't be Gallia, she was in front of me as we were walking.

I didn't know who, but I clutched the fruit in my hand, and drew my knife.

Something bad was about to happen.

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_Now_.

_Now? Are you certain?_

_ Do not test us. Now is the time. Do as you have been told and you will be rewarded with not just the restoration of your honor, but the thing that you have secretly desired ever since you failed your duty to Asher, your friend. _

_ You are certain that it will be granted? You aren't tricking me?_

_ We do not kid._

_ All I have to do, is throw this?_

_ All you have to do is throw the ax, and we will make sure that your wish is granted._

_ I don't know... This doesn't feel right._

_ You will not back down now. You will not back out. Once you dealt with us there is no turning back. And what would Asher think? You've always admired him so much, and you failed him in protecting his sister. Just think of what he's feeling towards you right now. He must hate you._

_ You're right. I'll do it. I'll regain my honor and you will give me what I've always wanted since I entered the Games._

_ That's the spirit. Now throw on my mark._

_ I await your call._

_ Excellent. Now listen close:_

_ Three..._

_ Two..._

_ One..._

_ Throw it!_

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It happened suddenly.

One minute she was in front of me, the next, she wasn't.

One moment, she was alive and mostly healthy, just malnourished and filthy. The next, she was on the ground, with her ax, the one that disappeared, lodged just behind her left shoulder blade, blood suddenly everywhere.

No time to scream, no time to shout ''Duck!", no time to realize something was coming our way.

I ran over to her, the seconds of stunned trance broken. I grabbed her shoulder and yanked the ax out, my movements jerky and uncertain, more so than I'd have liked. My eyes were wide and under my breath I was murmuring, "Please, oh please oh please... Shit shit shit. Oh my God, please be okay!"

Then I detected a pulse, and saw her eyes were staring up at me, and she was smiling, though it was a grimace of pain pitifully masked as a smile.

I saw her large green gaze shift to the tree. I followed it.

There, in the shadows, I saw someone walk slowly out from the shade of the tree. I rose from my kneeling position at her side to greet them, to protect her.

It was that boy, I forgot what District he was from, but it didn't matter. He had attempted to kill Gallia. He killed her brother. This she told me. She also told me that he was insane.

My judgment was passed.

I rushed forward off my feet, my vision a blur, just seeing his dirty, flea bitten face, and the ax in my hand, what may have caused Gallia to die.

It left my hand, I do not know when, because all that was running in my mind was obstructed by an opaque red mist.

When it cleared, I was standing over a body, of something that should not live. It was an emaciated shell of a boy, with grass and dirt streaked over straggly strips of what once was clothing. There was a matted mess that was once hair, and an eye, swollen shut. The one that looked up at me was glazed, but alive.

Then, the strange cloud lifted over his eye, and a watery blue one looked around, panicked, then up at me. It was so terrified. It didn't realize what had happened, but now it did, and it was shedding tears.

He took a ragged breath in, and I hurled the ax downward unceremoniously.

I heard the crunch, that should have been satisfying, as I heard the grim sound of a cannon just after it made impact with his destroyed head.

There was blood on my shoes. Squirting upwards onto my legs, my torso, my arms, my face. I stepped off his body and looked at it, my features an unreadable mask.

I just couldn't take it then, and I broke down.

Tears started running down my face.

He never meant for it to go this far.

He had gone insane, and lost sight of what was important.

He was just like me, but I was saved from this fate by being entered into the bane of his existance.

Why did I cry?

I should have been happy.

He killed Gallia's brother, and maybe did it to her.

Why was it that my heart felt so heavy when I abandoned his body then sprinted to Gallia, praying that her pulse was still beating.

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_Did I do well?_

_ Yes, Turin. You have succeeded in both of the requirements we have set for you._

_ Both? You told me I just had to kill her. What was the other?_

_ Oh, you know._

_ Wait, I kept my promise to Asher, right?_

_ Yes. You have redeemed her death, and your own existance._

_ Doesn't that mean I get my wish? The one I made when she died?_

_ Yes. You will get your greatest wish granted._

_ Then where is she? Where's Nadia? Isn't she okay? You promised me you'd bring her back and take her home to her brother!_

_ Ah, but you will see her. She is in fact find. And her brother will be on his way to her, very soon now. There is an uprising in his District, and it will result in fatality. We assure you, he will see her again. _

_ Wait, this isn't what I meant!_

_ And now for you._

_ Wait, stop! I didn't ask for this!_

_ Oh yes, Turin, yes you did. You wished this fate upon yourself when she died._

_ What do you mean?_

_ Your greatest wish will be granted in less than a second. _

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And suddenly, Turin was free of this madness. He looked with his only working eye around panicked, and realized he was on the ground.

He looked up, into a pair of beautiful sapphire orbs, ones he had never seen before. And he realized that this was the girl, the companion of the one he wrongly hated.

She was holding the ax the little girl had hung onto, one of the pair he had stolen. It was coated with blood, not his or hers, but of a small, limp figure behind her. He couldn't tell if it was alive or dead.

In another hand, there was a small red fruit, which could have been completely gone in two bites.

He stared up into the face of the girl, and saw that her eyes were hazy, enraged, terrified. Tears were forming at the brims of each eye.

All Turin could think about was about how guilty he was.

He had killed the girl's brother, then probably her, all in a fit of madness. The girl never deserved to die, but he had killed her anyway.

No, it wasn't just the thin little girl, but the beautiful one ready to kill him, Nadia, the other tributes, even him. No one should have died.

A tear begun to form in his eye.

He hadn't even known her name, he didn't even know who the little girl was, and he had probably killed her.

He had done this all for the sake of someone he had always wanted to befriend, someone he cared about, someone he had admired so much. He had always looked up to Asher, only two years older, but he was nineteen, too old for the Games. He was ready for action, Turin could tell, by how he had looked with desperate eyes up at his sister, quietly taking her place up at the stage. No volunteers.

He had stared at the boys, had been desperate for anyone to volunteer.

But no one did.

Turin was chosen, and as he walked grimly up to the stage, he stared back at Asher. At that moment, he made a pledge to his hero, to his would-be friend that he would protect Nadia.

He knew that no one would ever know, that Asher would never know exactly how much Turin adored him. But he was ready to face that possibility. He would protect Asher's sister, and someday meet him in the afterlife.

But she didn't make it past the first day. And he did.

From that moment on, he hated himself, he would do anything to die.

But the voices entered his mind, and told him that it wasn't his fault. That it was the boy from District Twelve who had to pay, his sister too, as double the offering to compensate for her death.

He started crying, shedding tears from his one working eye.

He deserved what was coming to him.

The girl was so beautiful, and through his tear-distorted eye, the sunset set her hair on fire and reflected around her, making her a mystical being, one who would end his suffering. An archangel, an avenger, who would punish him.

Some would have called her hot, or pretty in that romantic way. But he only saw the beauty of judgment descending upon him.

He stared into her eyes. Two large sapphire pools that betrayed her emotions. She was confused, terrified, anguished, angry, and sad. She had seen many things, and suffered in ways he wouldn't have deemed unimaginable. She would preside over his corpse, and would fulfill his final wish, the one he had attempted to make come true until the voices took over his mind.

The beautiful girl held the ax above her head with one hand, and heaved it downwards.

Contrary to belief, he focused not on the blade, but the pools of sapphire. He saw the expression change from anger to disbelief and so much confusion. He saw tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

Then he saw nothing.

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I stared up into her eyes. She wasn't crying, but I could tell she wanted to. I could feel the irregular beat of her heart, and knew that she was only a step from death.

I just couldn't lose her now. I had become so attached to her, seeing her die, being left alone, was an unthinkable option.

There was no choice, in my mind at the time.

This was the last thing I wanted to do- no, second to last, nearly tied with watching her die.

But it couldn't do any more damage now. Just two bites were left, and once she took one, she would take the other too, later. And I would die, knowing she was safe for the time being.

I held out the red fruit.

"Take a bite," I ordered, my voice broken and choked.

She took the small red fruit in her hands, shaking from the effort, blood widening out under us.

A large, dark red pool now gathered beneath us.

"Now!" I said more insistently, my voice trembling with desperation. What if she didn't eat it in time? What if it was only a one-hit-wonder? What if it would end up killing her?

She raised it to her lips, tore away more of the cursed thing, and I watched her throat carry it down.

I prayed that it would work.

I prayed that it wouldn't.

I just hoped that whatever happened next would ease the empty, cold, desolate feeling that was eating away at my heart.

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(( A/N: The song Gallia sings in one of the later segments is an excerpt of Daughter's Lament, part of the Hunger Games soundtrack. I kinda thought it would end up a sort of folk song in Panem after the Rebellion, because it seems like someone would sing that in the Districts. I know there are grammar issues, but that's what I heard in the song. If you have a correction, please, don't hesitate to tell me.))


	13. The World Closes In

This time around, I have a valid excuse for procrastinating and going on a several-month hiatus: I broke my laptop. I'm hooked up to a prehistoric monitor right now and my Internet has been out for a while... FML.

Now then, I will warn you about blood, gore, and character death. But this is the Hunger Games so you should see that coming. Oh, and last minute backstory because of one of my pet peeves about the Hunger Games series itself: You don't really learn anything about any of the other tributes beyond Katniss, Rue and Peeta. Everyone else is just either dead, the sneaky one, the strong one, or the crazy guys. It just bothers me that we're missing some of the story.

My evil side just wants to say that it can't wait to kill off three tributes... Yeah... I'm a sick person.

And my good side wants to say that this is going to be difficult to write, I've grown attached to the little guys.

**DISCLAIMER: I don't have ownership of Hetalia or the Hunger Games, and though this has been on hiatus for a while, do you know what I'm not gonna do?**

_** We're no strangers to love... You know the rules, and so do I. Full time commitment's what I'm thinking of. You wouldn't get this from any other {Gender not disclosed}, I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling. Gotta make you understand... I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie, and hurt you.**_

** I do not own Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up... Is it bad that I listened to this song whilst writing death scenes in this chapter?**

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Kiro felt like she was being followed.

For the most part, she appeared to be calm, but that was just part of the facade. Inside, she was terrified, trying to find a way to get out of the situation that some part of her knew was eminent. But she couldn't show it. She couldn't act scared, not in front of her family, her best friend, and the people of her District. She wondered that if she put on a brave face, she'd _finally_ get someone to sponsor her. But by the time the gift came... _No_, she couldn't think like that.

She had to keep going, to keep her eyes open and watching. Even though the birds weren't leaving, she had to keep going, because there was that part of her that kept her from fully trusting anyone.

_Just keep your head up_, Kiro told herself once more, _Don't show fear, and someone will help you. Smile if you want, even if it's a fake smile, it'll be what gets people to think you know what you're doing. You'll be fine. You'll make it._

But she knew that her odds weren't that great. No one sponsored her, and no one allied themselves with her. She didn't have special skills, none other than her excellent powers of observation. She was just a background character, both in her life before and during the Games. She never was greatly loved by any. Her parents were always at the factory, and her siblings weren't around either. Only her friend Nik gave her the time of day, made her feel like she was worth something. Someday, though, Nik would go off to work in the factories as she was older, and she would probably forget about Kiro too, and join the ranks of the people who barely knew her name, and didn't before she was reaped. But that was just a paranoid side of her. Kiro knew that the only reason why she hadn't taken her own life yet was because of Nik, the girl who taught her everything and stuck up for her, who shared food with her and told her the things that her sisters should have taught her.

But in the eyes of the world besides Nik, she was one of those expendable pieces of technology that her parents made, the ones that, if they got old or if a better one came along, you just threw it away.

Though now, Kiro had an advantage, one that no one else that she observed had. The flock of crows were a great asset. They were like guards, and watched out for her.

If she heard them make an alarm call, something big was coming. A tribute, the bears or wild dogs that roamed the arena, or a muttation.

If they were circling, there was food.

If they were calm, there was safety.

They also showed her the best trees to climb, and all in all, she had to admit, she had become quite dependent on the ebony feathered birds she came to call her friends.

These were the type that didn't stab you in the back. Though they would never measure up to Nik, Kiro knew that besides her, they would be the closest she would get.

Although something odd was about them...

Kiro didn't think that crows were supposed to have razor edged bills, but she put it off. She'd only been in District 3 for her entire life, and she hadn't seen all there was to see.

All in all, they had a positive effect on her. She took very little, and did what she had to, and for the most part, they were good. She had figured out how to use a net that she discovered in a nook in a tree, where the District 4 kids had died. Kiro had always been relatively close to them, never too close, but never too far. She'd watched them use the net, and weave a bit more, copying their styles to extend the net, though her extensions were mediocre at best.

Kiro had also witnessed the deaths of many tributes. First to die was a boy, from some District she didn't remember. He and the girl- Natalya, was it?- had been chased into the lake by the 4 kids, who were, oddly, operating alone and not in the customary Career pack. This pack was more unusual, it only lasted during the bloodbath, though there were a few Career alliances here and there. Anyway, they were pulled under by something, she could hear the boy screaming, then a thorny tentacle broke the surface and flew about in the air as they swam away.

It looked a bit like the start of an alliance, but then the boy stole from her, and she simply killed him. Kiro had always been self-oriented, so she didn't want an alliance anyway, but the girl who just killed had to be raking in the sponsors.

Wait, she didn't have a mentor, so she didn't have a way to get sponsors (Besides those host ladies in their prim and proper Capitol attire, but Kiro didn't think they had much say, and they didn't seem to be worth anything other than teetering in those high heels that must be secretly torture devices). Technically speaking, Natalya shouldn't even know what to do.

Later though, she had seen the District 4 tributes get killed by a bear and a pair of muttation wild dogs, very similar to the ones that roamed the nation naturally, but these were as big as horses, the ones that pulled their chariots.

After a while, it was pretty quiet on the lake, the silence only shattered by the cannons firing elsewhere. But Kiro's nerves only increased.

Take right now for instance, as mentioned before, she felt like she was being followed, and being watched.

Someone was hunting her, but she didn't know what.

Then, being as on edge as she was at this point, Kiro jolted herself with surprise and fell backwards out of surprise at the figure that was just suddenly... there. No warning from the birds or anything.

It was as if the person was a ghost.

No, not a ghost.

A demon, prepared to kill her.

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The crows eyed the stranger critically. Should they tell the girl?

No. The stranger had food. And food was good. They circled downwards, and perched on low branches nearby, waiting.

And the stranger dropped it, scattering crumbs from a District 1 piece of bread across the ground.

The birds fluttered out of sight of the girl who followed them around, who had fed them a while back and always gave them a portion of her meals, and begun pecking away at the crumbs, silent as could be.

The tribute seemed to watch them, no, it was more like surveying them, sizing them up.

Her eyes glimmered as they watched their beaks, serrated and sharp-edged, tear away at the food.

Her slender hand slipped into the pocket of her jacket, now reduced to an unidentified article of clothing that resembled a pile of rags held together by a few strands of thread, ready to rip off any second now.

She withdrew a small packet, wrapped in opaque plastic. The girl read the small scratchings on it that the humans seemed to know how to decipher, and a smile slithered across her well-formed face.

It was not a friendly grin, but more of a smirk, the look a coyote gets when it has it's prey trapped, or that of a cat who loves to play with it's prey.

The crows hopped after her, as she had bread, when she took several steps back. Then, as she turned, they fluttered up to the branches around her, now contracted to the strange girl with the bread as much as the scrawny girl with the net.

They followed her as she stepped out of the brush, into view of the net-carrying girl.

Several of their flock were eying the strange packet in her pocket, poking out slightly. The bread girl smiled the grin that was not a smile, and looked at them with her beautiful glittering eyes, that reminded some of the flock of the large blue stone that pretended to be an oasis, or the large lake and it's beautiful ripples, that made their own beady black eyes cloud with greed when they saw them.

But there was darkness in that gaze.

A darkness like that of the lake, with it's horrible creatures that lay below.

Eels and barracuda and sharks. The great vine creature that would slay those of their flock that ventured so close, the reason why the net-carrying girl would never go beyond the length of her knees.

The dark promise of death.

They stared, not moving, as she slowly picked open the packet, and let her thin fingers slide into the mystery contents, withdrawing a large handful of some sort of shimmery gray powder that threw light like the waves did at night across the face of the bread girl.

Suddenly, the crows were aware of their own anticipation. The greedy clouds in their eyes, the saliva that shouldn't be natural dripping from their beaks, the tapping of wickedly curved claws that were deceptively disguised as those of an ordinary bird. The rippling of feathers and rising of wings, the tensing of muscles in preparation of flight.

The confused, yet terrified expression of the net-carrying girl, petrified with fear, trying to come up with a plan, the malicious grin of the girl with the bread, and the willpower of the flock simply evaporated.

All that mattered was what was held in the bread girl's hands. The powder that called to them, the strange substance that, if they had it, it would induce euphoria, the strange drug-like substance they would kill for.

Then, the girl raised her arm, and the flock begun to caw. Calling to her, "Please, please give it to us! We will ask nothing more of you if you just give it to us!"

And the girl grinned, communicating with her eyes the message: "If you want it, you will have to work for it."

Then, she threw it, straight into the net-carrier's face.

As if acting upon her command, the birds launched themselves forth, their wicked claws and beaks outstretched in the promise of obtaining the powder, desperate to grasp it in their beaks, to suck it down their throats, to simply know what it is like to have it.

Their beaks and claws tore through the girl's skin and hair, ripping her apart in their frenzy, their ears deaf to her screams. Her hands that waved about, attempting to tear the birds off of her and shield herself had no effect on them.

They had to find the powder, they had to eat it.

The moment one would find a speck, it would tear open the flesh and consume it, not caring what it was that it was eating, just that the gray powder was in it's beak.

Sawing apart tendons and muscle with their beaks, puncturing veins and arteries with their claws, the birds continued in their mad frenzy as pieces of skin and strands of hair and spurts of blood flew, mixing in with their own ebony feathers and dust the girl kicked up in her desperation to survive in a macabre blizzard.

As the birds begun to calm down, the girl with the bread stepped forward, and dumped the entire contents of the packet down onto the screaming-now-gurgling body.

The birds then begun ripping the girl apart, sawing apart her bones, tearing off her fingers and toes, her nose and lips, pecking her eyes into pulp.

At some point, her screams stopped, her body stopped resisting and her fight was gone, a distant booming echoing in the distance, but it didn't matter to the birds. They just needed more.

And when they realized that the powder was in their feathers, dusted on their feet and heads and wings, they turned on each other and a bloodbath more brutal than that of the Cornucopia begun as the girl with the bread walked calmly away.

The girl said with an eerie calm, " One down, three to go. And Terran, off dealing with the others? I'll just wait."

She walked to the Cornucopia, and sat on the rock nearby calmly, the low sun telling her it was around the time she had been told to wait.

By the lake, the last of the bloodbath finished when the last survivors fell dead from consumption of a drug-like poison.

Sure enough, not long after the birds were silenced, a silver parachute floated down into Arria's lap.

Arria looked into it and smiled at what was going to ensure her victory of the Hunger Games.

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Nik couldn't believe it.

She sat, staring, in front of the television, her breathing ragged, her body trembling.

Nik was on the verge of tears, her brown eyes rimmed with red, but she thought about what Kiro would think of her. Kiro would tease her in the way she always did, about how stupid she was for crying and giving up. Even though Kiro was a gawky little kid who was freaked out by all the possibilities of the things that happened, how much could go wrong, she still went out and lived, but in the obscurity that she had grown up in.

No, Kiro wouldn't be happy at all to see her cry. She would be trying to get Nik to get over it, and move on. And for the most part, she listened to Kiro. The girl, though she was several years younger, had always been braver than Nik. Take the reaping for instance, she hadn't cried when she was called, but Nik was trying desperately not to start sobbing. She wasn't summoned to the Capitol to be interviewed in the special final eight showcase, that was cut down because of sudden death, and had been going in and out of states of crying all throughout the time Kiro was shown, which wasn't that much since no one seemed to find her interesting.

But this time, she wouldn't get over it, she wouldn't just forget and move on.

There had always been this anger deep inside her, a resentment for the Capitol and for what they had done, a hatred for the families that were never around, who never taught them anything, thus Nik learned through observation and became the teacher to Kiro. It had lay dormant for many years, and it begun churning and seething when Kiro was making her debut in the chariot. She hated the Games, her uncle had entered them a while back and never returned. She had tried to keep her head up, but knew she was the subject of whispers and gossip, the 'tribute girl's only friend.'

What's more depressing, is that almost no one in her own District knew her best friend's name.

Well, Nik was far beyond sad, she was furious. She wanted to go somewhere and start a riot, to burn the entire District to the ground and go on a rampage, if it meant masking the emptiness that she felt now.

And so, she got up, and left the house, heading out to the factory where her parents made music chips, where she was supposed to work someday, and had begun taking shifts. She disciplined herself with the deadly calm she had mastered over the years, until she saw the television nearby where some of the workers watched the Games while they worked. She saw a recap of her friend's death, the horror of her dismembered corpse.

And suddenly, her vision blurred, and a tool was in her hands, destroying an assembly line. A peacekeeper running over to intercept her was no match for her fury, her hatred of all things and all people connected to the Capitol in positive terms, her hatred for her parents and Kiro's family, her hatred for the people of her District, who sat back and let it happen, who didn't care and didn't bother to help. She pulled back the visor of his helmet, and rammed the tool into his forehead, into his eyes, and felt the warm spray of blood cover her face. He dropped, motionless onto the ground, and Nik realized that no one was moving to stop her, no one from her District that rightfully belonged there. They were all moving aside, and a wrinkled old man nodded solemnly, then begun slicing the electric cords snaking across a wall nearby apart. A young woman did the same, casting a look at Nik, then destroying something of hers.

A chain reaction had started, and soon, the entire factory was the subject of a riot, a massive one as the factory was one of the largest in the District. No one destroyed anything or caused chaos as much or as passionately as Nik though. They were the type of people who followed one another's lead, so they would attempt to be as chaotic and wild as Nik, but they would always fall short because most of them lacked passion.

The next hours faded into a blur. The riot spread, destroying more factories, burning down many buildings in an attempt to reach the peacekeeper outpost.

But then, Nik saw the massive ship fly swiftly and silently in, the swarms of uniformed people running forth with stun guns, and knew they were outnumbered. Though her instincts told her to run, no, they were screaming at her to, she roared and raised a sharp shard of metal she grabbed from the wreckage, and charged the sea of peacekeepers, screaming a final battle cry that was a combination of fury, grief and pure contempt for the creatures that dared call themselves humans.

She wasn't surprised at all when a rough hand grabbed her wiry brown hair, yanking it back.

She wasn't surprised at being crushed against the hard, filthy concrete, seeing a dark red outline seep below her shoulder, and she wasn't surprised at all when she saw the pointed end of a stun gun in the corner of her eyes.

And suddenly, she couldn't move.

Nik let her eyes roll back in her head, and went limp, wondering if Kiro was proud of her.

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The president grinned.

Things were going very well so far, and it was all going so smoothly.

In the Games, that was.

There were uprisings in nearly every District, and a massive one in Three had just begun, starting with some sort of explosion in a factory. The liberated District Thirteen people at least were passive, probably because they were locked away. But at least the _entire_ country wasn't trying to kill him.

President Aurelius had learned, perhaps an hour before, that they had caught the catalyst of this particular riot, and the deviant was in custody, awaiting execution in public. He had told the Head Gamemaker to have the girl's death be broadcasted across Panem, a reminder to anyone who plans on staging such an idiotic stunt of the consequences. It would happen just after dark that night, with floodlights on the stage where the girl would be gunned down, her family given a special place to watch. He couldn't afford to have her as an Avox, not now.

They would transport the rebel's body to the Capitol and keep it in a locked place until the list of bodies to be incinerated was down to her. She would be pushed back for a while, because the people he needed to disappear that weren't known to anyone else would attract suspicion and catch the eyes of the people who worked down there, deep below the ground of the building where he lived and worked.

He rubbed his temples and turned back to his computer, playing with the icons until a list of incoming sponsors popped up.

President Aurelius begun to slowly read each item, and delete them.

A top-of-the-line dagger for the Natalya girl his Gamemaker had found out of nowhere, to replace his own daughter.

A compact pickax, from a group of District Twelve victors for Gallia.

A powerful sword for Terran, the boy from District One who followed his personal favorite around like a puppy.

And many more, all dictated to the three remaining enemy tributes, in his mind. Every single one didn't make it to the parachute stage.

Then, when just one tribute was left, he used the money left from the sponsorships to send her a massive sponsor gift: a box with intricate circuits and other electronic components, perfect for setting electrical traps. She knew what to do, he sent her a detailed instruction manual with the steps for her to follow.

Aurelius automatically knew that she'd have it done perfectly, all that time of extra schooling and training by the nation's best had always paid off well for her.

His daughter, however...

Catalia was always second best to Arria, never as pretty, never as smart, never as physically fit. She was a whiz with technology though, he had to owe his daughter that. But other than that, she just wasn't as special as Arria, and he felt a bit embarrassed by her, to the point of keeping her in her massive room on the penthouse floor, sealed away so no one could see her. In fact, few people really acknowledged that she was his daughter, and it had been eighteen years since her birth was announced, everyone moved on and forgot. But when she was reaped, well, he couldn't afford the scandal.

He also included a note he typed himself, with all the achievements of the one person who was a serious threat at this point written in detail. She hadn't really seen the threat enough to know everything, and needed the information to realize how to beat her.

President Aurelius sent the approved request to the Gamemaker who would send the package into the arena. He made a mental note to have the particular Gamemaker put to death after it was sent, he couldn't afford anyone knowing too much.

He shook his head and turned on the TV, watching an image of Arria reading the instructions intently. He smiled and nodded slightly, confident that she would win, cheering her on in his head.

After all, he had a certain duty to root for, and yes, spoil, his niece.

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Mauritia glanced at the door, where her mother left a moment earlier.

She wasn't back yet, probably off with the lesser Gamemakers overseeing a slaughter.

All the better for Mauritia. If the plan worked, then the Games wouldn't end with just one tribute.

She wondered what was going on out in the Districts, whether rebellion was there or not. The little mockingjay song she had pulled earlier on had been more of a prank, but nonetheless, it seemed to help tell everyone that something was coming. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't have done it, but it was one of those days when she was just so angry at her parents...

Mauritia pulled herself out of the past and begun searching for a certain page.

She pulled up the one that oversaw the development of the final muttations. All of the ones who died earlier were developed, pacing around in cages beneath the arena. One was being created in a tube-like construction filled with greenish liquid, a small, scrawny ginger one with gray eyes that was hooked up to tubes that fed the necessary DNA into the being so it would grow more. Mauritia recognized the girl as Kiro, the District 3 tribute who made it to the final five who was... well... Mauritia didn't know exactly what happened to her, but what was left didn't seem to qualify as human remains.

She looked at it longer, letting her gaze linger on the Kiro-muttation. It's eyes were wide and scared, as if it knew what was going on, but they had programmed her personality into the mutt for more psychological damage against the final two, but it was watered down, in a muttation way but not the actual tribute herself trapped in a mutt's body. But there was sadness in those eyes, an emptiness that glazed over it that seemed similar to the look in Catalia's eyes when she first met her. That sadness, that emptiness, Mauritia had felt as well. Loneliness.

_The poor kid,_ Mauritia thought as she tried to focus.

Then, she started looking through the data. Four left, but not one of the pre-made mutts was the one that they had changed the programming of.

But from the looks of what was happening on the screen that showed the Games, it would be developing very soon.

Her heart felt blackened and heavy as she watched.

Just in case, she typed the same information into another muttation's code. That way, they would have a backup plan if one of the two they could trust made it to the final two.

Although the 'if' was technically a 'when'. In the end, everyone seemed to know that it would be a face-off between the survivors of the two alliances.

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I stepped forward into the clearing, and studied the slope upwards.

It was gradual, with yellow grass that, instead of reaching above my head, ended just below my knees. Stubby bushes all around, thorns here and there, no real herbs or fruits in sight. Gray rocks were all over the place, jutting randomly out of the soil, with spindly pine trees that clung to the poor soil with large, spindly (But nonetheless strong) roots that twisted above ground in weird formations, the type of tree where, if you attempted to climb one, it would bend over backwards from the weight of even a dog. I stashed the ragged remains of what barely passed for a backpack in a crevice not far away, since I was hunting and needed to not have anything extra weighing me down.

Gallia and I had resumed our trek to the cliffs, and we were only a few meters away from the nearest bluff. Here, the ground was uneven, sloping up and down like the climbs and falls on a heart rate monitor in a hospital.

We hadn't stopped to rest, no matter how concerned I was at the time about her condition after it happened. Gallia had insisted that she was fine after she woke up a few hours later, and I had no reason why I shouldn't believe her. Though I had a growing concern for her, I didn't want her to believe that I was paranoid, or thought her weak, and so I let it stay inside, with all my other locked-up emotions.

I didn't want to be overbearing, or I'd be a bit of a hypocrite, as I've spent all this time trying to break away from the Russia-influenced part of my mind that dominated me before I entered the Games.

She was off in the woods somewhere nearby. Gallia had noticed the depleted food supply and decided to go off and look for something to scavenge, somehow deciding for me that we would split up and each come back with something. Gallia was getting increasingly headstrong, like she was trying to pack in a lifetime of independence into a small amount of time, though I somehow knew she was preparing to die.

Me? I decided not to prepare, since going with the flow seems to be the way to survive the Hunger Games. Get paranoid and start preparing, and you'll die soon after.

Why didn't this knowledge help my nervous interior?

A sudden movement in a branch, an uneasy sway from just within the tree line, just beyond the thick brush, followed by a shuffling sound, with the clatter of small stones crunching and rolling, jerked me out of my thoughts.

_Probably just a bird or something._

Or something.

I pulled the stone dagger from my belt. It was beginning to dull slightly, and I had to sharpen it a few hours before. It weighed more than I noticed before. I waved it up and down ever so slightly, adjusting myself to what I guessed was the fatigue and hunger's toll on my strength. It would have to do. There were no knives in the arena, or I probably would have been running the show.

I quickly eliminated the option that whatever was there was Gallia. The sound that came wouldn't have been so loud, like a larger body mass, with her. And she'd make her appearance known to me.

Part of me, the oblivious 'It's all going to be fine' part (The one I acquired from my visit to America, that I kept locked away in a corner of my mind), told me to relax and just carry on as usual, perhaps go find Gallia.

The smart side of my brain told me to keep my guard up and get out of the area.

Both options didn't sound good, and suggested to the pretty obvious feeling of someone following me. But if I left, my follower could go after Gallia. And if I went looking for her, they'd find her when I did.

My best bet, for my ally's sake, was to stay where I was.

I took a deep breath, visualizing the battles of World War II, and how I had felt this way towards Russia so long ago. I was willing to die to protect him, and when he ordered me to move, to keep going, I did it. Now, it was the same situation, the same suicide battle. Whether it was by design of the people who controlled the arena, who obviously didn't shower any privileges on me or Gallia (Though I didn't know about anyone else, or whether they actually controlled such things), therefore proving that they don't seem to favor either of us. And with the amount of challenges I've been through, it's fairly certain in my case that they don't seem to like me. Considering that my stalker (I was certain now that it was a tribute, as a muttation wouldn't wait to make an appearance, it would just get to it and start attacking.) was in the final four, and I knew that the only other person I knew by name was Arria. She would make her presence known, make a big show of it all.

The only person left was the boy from her District, and from my glimpses of him in the brief bloodbath a while ago, he was huge and muscular, a brutal killer. And since before the Games he followed her around like a lovestruck puppy, he was probably in league with Arria. Which means he was probably well-fed, well-rested, and of stable mind (I'm fairly certain that I wasn't. You can take away my immortality and invulnerability, but you can't get rid of the mental scars, though you can lessen the toll on my body.) To get down to it, he was already a skilled fighter, probably took it easy throughout the whole death trap that was the Hunger Games, and was ready to kill me, since there were so few of us left.

Crap.

I heard the crunch of the dry grass not far behind me. I turned to face my deduced follower, who watched me for a moment, then drew his sword.

There was a high probability that I couldn't ignore, that I wouldn't make it out of this fight.

No matter, I was ready.

I took a deep breath, and charged.

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Terran found her, at last.

He had been wandering around for ages now, wondering what Arria would think of him if he came back without killing them. She'd be very disappointed. But if he came back after two cannon shots...

Then, it would be just the two of them, and the Capitol would surely let them both live as victors. He knew that Arria would never kill him, never betray him, and he'd rather die than do either to her.

Arria had told him that he should go out and deal with the only other alliance, and leave the clever little runt to her. From the cannon a while ago, he knew she succeeded, and awaited his return.

She had told him to aim to kill both of them, but he had to target that Capitol girl first and make her his priority. She had such a high training score for a reason, and was the biggest threat now. The other girl, the slender little dark haired kid from 12 was an added bonus, but if he didn't kill her, then Arria would only be mildly disappointed and they'd join forces to hunt her down.

He was expecting something noticeably different about this tribute. He hadn't met her before, and from what Arria had told him, she was supposedly one of the best fighters in the arena from the start, and had survived everything thrown at her. She had been right where the fire had been worst, had taken a dive off a cliff, had almost been drowned by the tentacle creature, had created her own weapon from a rock with special properties, had ridden on the back of a wild dog, had climbed a tree to evade an enraged bear and a pack of horse-sized dogs in less than a day, had loads of sponsors piled up to look after her.

Something was odd about what Arria said, she had never been in the heart of the fire, but safely tucked away. She hadn't been near the lake at the beginning of the Games, when she said it had taken place, when she was off in the woods with a girl she allied with. What ever happened to that girl? Hadn't she taken that tumble off the cliff wrestling with the other girl they had chased to it? And if Arria did see the Capitol girl, why didn't she kill the other tribute?

Things weren't adding up. He wondered if it was safe for him to go back to his ally. Then, Terran reassured himself. _No, it can't be right, she's always told the truth to me. I'm just being paranoid or something._

But a little voice in the back of his head told him otherwise. Terran silenced it.

As he was saying, she had been through so much, and had killed many of the tributes in the Games, directly or indirectly. Arria had told him about all those silver parachutes landing in front of her, of all the gifts she had and how she took it easy while the rest of them suffered. Just after he allied with Arria, he for once had more than enough to eat. There were parachutes supplying them now, perhaps the citizens of the Capitol realized that one of them would win, not the girl from their city.

He expected a tall, powerful girl who was glowing with health, not a wound or scar on her body. He knew that she was beautiful already, with long silvery hair and a white ribbon on top of her head that was her token. Terran expected her to have luxury at hand and be no different from when she first leaped off the pedestal where they all waited for the beginning.

But the girl in front of him was bony and emaciated, wearing the same ragged clothes as the rest of them, if they weren't more tattered from all the things she went through. She walked in slow strides, and though there was an undercurrent of grace, it was certainly watered down and far from the way she moved at the beginning, when he saw her at the bloodbath. Her hair was now just below her chin, and was jagged at the edge, like she'd hacked it off with something sharp. She was streaked with grime, dirt and blood, so much that her skin had a slight darker tone to it, that her hair wasn't silvery but yellowish brown. She had her head sunken down a bit, like she was tired and fatigued. Her stance seemed to be...deflated somehow, like she was a worn down animal about to be taken away to be shot.

This was far from the girl he'd expected.

He shifted his feet, leaning against one of the spindly pines, which swayed with his weight. He skidded on the loose stones, some of them rolling down the slope with a soft clatter.

He saw the girl tense up suddenly, and draw a large, flat piece of stone from her belt. He saw it was shaped like a kitchen knife, or a dagger. So that was the infamous weapon she made from a rock. It was black, an obsidian color, had serrated edges that looked like they would tear into your flesh easily and happily and had a small hole in the handle, where he saw what looked like a silver spiderweb curl up into her jacket sleeve. He smiled, wondering how she missed that, maybe she didn't use it that often, or at all.

She waved it up and down a bit, then seemed to pause. He walked down, this time more stealthy, into the clearing, his heavy sword tapping his side with each stride he took. Terran stopped and watched her closely. The girl seemed to be taking deep breaths, her back still to him, like she was psyching herself up for a fight.

Terran took another step forward, this time from flat rock that was at the bottom of the loose gravelly slope, to the dry, stunted yellow grass that grew to just below his knees, tiny compared to the mass of the grassland that towered feet over your head. It made a soft crunch, and he could see the Capitol girl tense more at the sound.

Slowly, she turned to face him, and he could see in great detail the bony structure of her face, her sallow cheeks, her cracked lips, the streaks of dirt, small cuts and bruises, the way her eyes had deep shadows beneath them, and though they were sunken in, they were still radiating a blue intensity that made him uncomfortable. If anything, the glare was more powerful from when he saw her first before the Games started. Despite his discomfort with the girl, he drew his sword.

She took one more deep breath, raised the stone knife, and ran right at him.

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I don't remember much about that battle, just the haze of anger and rage and animal-like ferocity that clouded my senses. It was like the time I attacked the boy who nearly killed Gallia, but perhaps a step up from that furious murder. All that mattered was the boy, for he was the enemy, and we were the only two in the world.

I felt the tension in my muscles every time I swung and missed, as he seemed to be a master at darting out of reach of my swings, as I was with his. We seemed to be at an impasse.

With each swing and dodge, I could feel my strength slowly draining, the nights of little sleep, and intense physical work hadn't left me much to use in terms of reserves of energy. The boy, on the other hand, was holding his own and seemed to be much better rested and fed than me. This was a battle of endurance, I realized, whoever tired first would die.

I knew, in the dark, obscure part of my mind that this was a fight that I simply couldn't win. Most of my body decided that it was better just to give up, and relax, let him kill me, and let it all end. I didn't have anything to return to if I won, after all.

So why did I start fighting harder after that?

Was it some sort of masochistic desire, to inflict more pain on myself? I had more or less indulged in it in the past.

Was it the desire to defy the odds, to leave the Games just to come back to a group of nations who I knew would have preferred me to vanish, just to see their expressions?

Was it the fear of dying, and what would follow?

Maybe it was the protective nature I had towards my people.

Yes, that was it. It was a mixture of two of the three thoughts I had just previously had. I feared for what would happen to the people of the country I represented. If I died, would they die too? Or would another personification be born, an ordinary human made immortal, forced to watch their loved ones die in front of them, deal with a snakelike president who made it clear that if they resisted, more people would mysteriously disappear, and endure so many wars?

Ah, my dear president. How I hated him, but how scared I was to say what I felt. I had my old flag, white with a single red stripe splitting the white in two, hidden away in my home, waiting for the moment to come out and for the current one to be lowered forever. I would probably never use it though, after all, I was so far lost that if I did stage a rebellion, I don't know if I'd know what to do. My own language was now reduced to slang used by teenagers. But it wasn't gone. And neither was I.

But back to the issue of my lovely dictator-pardon, president. I wanted him to vanish, just like my insurgents. I wanted someone new to take over, to help my nation change and adjust to the modern times. I wanted to have someone in charge who didn't obsess over the Soviet Union and becoming one with my brother. He had 'persuaded' me a while back that it was the best, and for a long time, I believed it. I pursued my brother for him, and also for my own private reasons. If even Russia, one of the most feared nations, was terrified of me, who would attack me, or try to mess with me? But my plan worked perhaps too well. Now, we were stuck with each other, and every day, I lose more of the will to resist, that exists in the newest generations of my people.

I could see it in his eyes, how easy it was, if I just vanished one day. If the personification of the Republic of Belarus simply didn't exist. I was a liability, and I clung to that. I was a thorn in his side, and I decided that, if I was to be a thorn, I would cut deep. If I came back, perhaps he'd realize that I intended on staying, and would back down.

But more than that, I wanted to be there, to make sure that no other person would be forced to be a personification, to deal daily with this vile person. I knew him since I declared independence from my brother not long ago. No one else knew what made him tick, and how far he could be pushed. If someone else was to take my place, they would walk on eggshells trying to please him, and they would make errors that would cost them a lot.

I didn't need the approval from other nations, or even the people I stayed loyal to, to do what I did. I just needed the private mind of a human that became a personification, a mind that was locked away, but was still there, to tell me what to do.

And now, it told me to keep fighting, not just to see the looks on the nations faces when I came back, but to keep another version of myself from being forced to endure millennium of suffering, to continue to push my president bit by bit, until he hit his breaking point. And my human mind told me, to keep the boy's attention on me, and not Gallia.

I felt my knife connect with his side, and saw blood on the edge of my blade, but I knew it wasn't enough to kill him.

But one slice guaranteed that it was possible, to hurt him, and that I could do it again.

I focused on the boy, the sweat on his palms and his forehead, his stringy blond hair and brown eyes that were flashing, his brow furrowed in determination.

We were moving backwards as we fought, and after I slashed him a second time, he grazed my arm with his sword. The same motivation that went through my mind must have went through his, because then, we were at an impasse once more.

I wondered if the people watching were getting bored, all this fighting getting nowhere, and if the controllers of the Games would do something crazy to make things more interesting, to tip the scales, so to speak.

I must have jinxed it, because perhaps a minute later, we ceased our battling at the sound of a loud crack nearby.

Both of us lowered our weapons and looked around, because when it came to Gamemakers, all tributes had a common enemy to fear more than each other. Though I had only seen them briefly when I had to perform for them, I knew that they had more power than any of the tributes in the arena. They controlled the world we were thrown into, the scenarios that were thrown at us, and if we weren't careful, could destroy tributes that didn't provide much interest to the viewers.

So far, I could see nothing, and kept an eye on the boy in the corner of my eye. He didn't seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed, and kept looking around. But then, when his jaw dropped, I had to turn to see what it was. No amount of acting could portray his expression, so I dismissed the idea that he was faking.

It all happened so fast, after I turned, that I still don't have a firm idea of what exactly happened. One moment, nothing but a loud crack, the next, an angular black snake tearing across the ground right to us, and then, the earth crumbling away beneath my feet, leaving me no time to scream.

My arms tangled themselves in the complex system of a tree's roots, and I dangled in midair, staring up at the boy who was perfectly fine, wondering how this could get any worse, when I felt the terrifying and all-too-familiar sensation of a powerful arm wrapping itself around my foot, and hot needles slicing through my skin.

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The Head Gamemaker's face split into a massive grin.

What ratings! Everyone loved the Quarter Quell! She watched one of the biggest moments in the Games yet, intently, scrutinizing every little detail.

She wanted to add a bit of, what was the word? Tension? No, not quite...

Suspense?

Yes, that was it, suspense. Keep the audience watching, betting, rating.

And for that, something crazy had to happen.

The red-clad woman walked in her abnormally high heels over to a lesser Gamemaker. She bent over, and whispered into the man's ear, and he nodded, pulling up a map of the area, and in particular, it's terrain.

He pressed a few buttons, typed in a few key words, and, a few moments later, the two simply watched as the earth split open beneath one of the girls' feet, and massive vine tentacles, like those in the lake, began thrashing and flailing at her feet, nearly slicing the soles from her boots.

The Head Gamemaker's heart beat faster, not out of fear, but out of excitement at the terror in her eyes as she clung to the root of a tree, now greatly protruding with the loss of the earth beneath it, struggling against the creature that was programmed to only stop when one of the tributes was dead.

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Gallia explored along the edge of the ridge, fighting the wind that flew upwards in an air current from the rest of the arena, downhill from where she was standing. It blew in her face, and sent her tangled hair flying. She had half a mind to get rid of it, but she didn't really have time for that. And besides, she had the suspicion that it would fly back in her face just after she threw it to the wind.

Gallia took a few more tentative steps along the loose rocks, shuffling her feet and squinting her eyes to see where she was going. At this altitude, some of the mist that remained in an eternal cloud just over the constantly overcast arena (Except, oddly enough, at night. The Gamemakers must have had a thing for dramatic battles at sunrise, sunset and under the light of the stars.), which occasionally descended into the arena below. She kicked up some rocks just at the edge, and hearing the sound of clattering that died off into the distance, she backed up hurriedly.

Gallia cursed her hair and grabbed it, poised to hack it off with her miniature ax. She only had the one now, she and her ally had left the other behind in their haste to leave the body of her would-be killer behind them, to make as much distance as possible as soon as Gallia woke up from the sleep the odd red fruit had induced onto her.

Sure enough, as Gallia had predicted, a huge blackened knot of hair flew right into her face.

She dropped what she held, and pulled it out of her eyes irritably, then she noticed that it wasn't even hers. It wasn't attached to her head for one thing, it also wasn't the wavy mess that would have been tied back into a braid, but it was straight and almost crunch to the touch, like it had been singed. It seemed like a very large tuft, Gallia could see, and she settled herself behind a large boulder, into a place free of the wind, in order to inspect it properly.

She found that it was also quite long, perhaps a foot from tip to tip, and a lot of it had compacted together with some kind of moisture. Furthermore, it wasn't all blackened and crunchy, which she recognized as being singed, probably belonging to one of the tributes who was long dead by now, but had lived to see the fire. Some of it was limp and yellowish-brown, but with dirt, not a natural color. She spat in her hand and begun rubbing away some of the dirt, feeling ridiculous.

_Why am I doing this?_ Gallia wondered. _It's just kind of odd that I'd be thinking about a big piece of hair from someone who's dead by now. Anyone who watches me must think I'm a real freak._

But something compelled her to keep rubbing at the dirt until it finally came away, revealing a dull, silvery blond color that was familiar. Gallia acknowledged three girls in the Hunger Games with hair this color before the Games began. A girl struck down in the bloodbath by the sword of the boy from her District, another who ran off into the desert and was never seen again, and the person she was closest to now.

Her eyes flicked across the clump in her hands, and fell upon a loose white thread sticking out from where it had become a knot, almost impenetrable for her nimble fingers.

Almost.

Stupid curiosity getting the better of her, Gallia begun pulling at the strands that had mixed with mud and leaves and whatever refuse from the forest had to offer.

While doing this, she allowed her mind to drift.

She should have been hunting, as she had split up from the newly-named Polotsk to do so, but she hadn't been successful, and hunting gave way to scouting for a place for them to wait for the other two tributes to grow distrustful of one another and kill each other. If one came their way, they would kill whoever it was and then...

Then what? The Games could only have one victor. She knew that she could never hurt her friend now, she had grown too attached to her ally, and she was certain that Polotsk felt the same way, even with the current turn of events that made her think otherwise. She guessed that they would just stay together until the Gamemakers decide to send in some mutt or natural disaster that would kill one of them. She knew she could trust Polotsk not to kill her, and Polotsk did the same, Gallia could see it in her eyes.

Gallia let her mind drift more, to the moment she almost died. She was in so much pain, and she could feel her heart slow and nearly stop. But when Polotsk held the fruit out to her, Gallia didn't question her. She just took it and now, she was alive. There was one bite left now, Polotsk had told her what happened to the first, and how she survived what she guessed were massive internal injuries and shattered bones. Hunger hadn't been eradicated with that bite, but Gallia couldn't be picky.

After all, Polotsk could have had three chances to literally come back from the dead and it was a massive advantage in the Games, it could be her easy way of winning.

The fact that she gave it to Gallia was astounding, and proof that Polotsk cared about Gallia just as much as Gallia cared about her.

Even more than that, her ally had believed Gallia when she said she felt fine, that they should continue traveling, that she didn't want to be babied. The truth was, Gallia would have appreciated it, but she couldn't afford to look like a weakling in front of the entire country of Panem.

She was pulled back to reality when her fingers broke through, into the center of the tuft where the thread originated, and pulled out something that seemed oddly out of place.

Gallia had expected to find a piece of clothing, a scrap of white cloth, but instead, she found a long white silk ribbon. Or at least, it once was white silk. A small amount of the ribbon still was a pristine white, but the rest seemed like a timeline. Stripes and blots of red, sections of charred black, places of fraying and holes, much of it streaked with dirt and mud. In one place, it had the grayish residue the rocks left on clothes and skin when you touched it.

It was sort of like a record of the girl's survival in the Games, and Gallia identified the owner of the ribbon immediately as Polotsk. It had been her token, but it had vanished when her hair had been cut short. Now, her it was, with all the hair Polotsk had disposed of, probably throwing it to the wind. The tuft had probably tangled itself in other refuse the wind carried, and got caught under a loose stone Gallia had stirred up.

She wondered how Polotsk felt without her token. It was probably gotten rid of on purpose, knowing Polotsk probably wouldn't misplace something so important in the Games. A token defined you from the rest, marked you as an individual. Gallia's hand slipped, almost unconsciously to her shirt, and reached inside.

She pulled out a tarnished chain that had once been silver, that she wore around her neck. Nothing was on it, it was just a tarnished chain. But it was special to her because it had belonged to her mother. Her brother had something their father had given to him as his token, but he was long gone, and so was the token- a ring carved out of a piece of wood.

She rubbed the silver chain, and then stared down at the ribbon, stroking the silk she almost never saw, let alone felt. The tiny part that was pure and unblemished was soft and sleek, a sensation Gallia related to dog's fur.

She decided to hang onto the ribbon, not to return to her ally, as she obviously didn't want it, but for herself. Gallia did her best to braid it around her left wrist, and did so with a bit of effort in a few minutes, finishing with a mediocre amount of skill.

Gallia decided it was time to go home, after she was done. She picked up her ax, and started navigating the way down, quicker than before, as she now knew the terrain better than her hike up.

In an hour or so, she had finally achieved her goal of hunting on her way back to find Polotsk. A rabbit held in her left hand, dangling by the hind leg, she followed the bootprints Polotsk had left in the dry, dusty soil. For whatever reason, though it was drier than anywhere else in the arena, it was remarkably easy to see one's footprints. She followed those belonging to her friend for a while, but then she noticed something unsettling.

A second set of bootprints, these larger and unmistakably shaped like those of a boy, appeared before her eyes.

_**No**_. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

Gallia begun to hasten her pace, transitioning almost instantly from a walk to a jog to a full out sprint, following the two sets of tracks.

Not far ahead, she heard a loud, crumbling sound, like the earth was splitting open, or an avalanche of rocks had begun.

Gallia was sprinting now, following the narrow trail both Polotsk and her follower had taken. Her chest heaved, and the rabbit slapped at her side, hindering her running, so she threw it aside, gripping her ax tightly in her right hand as she accelerated as much as she could, just wanting to reach her ally before the follower did, just to make sure Polotsk was okay.

Her heart dropped in her chest when she saw a brutish boy crouched in front of what was possibly a ditch. Her ally's knife was lying on the ground perhaps ten feet away.

No, as Gallia approached, she realized it was more than that. She could see that it went to be deep, impossibly deep, and was perhaps ten feet wide. The boy was swinging a sword into the ditch, attacking some unknown enemy. Gallia got closer, and realized with horror the scene in front of her wasn't some sort of delusion.

She saw perhaps ten powerful tentacles with millions of tiny thorn-like hairs sticking out of each individual appendage, slashing at the boy's hands as he attempted to slice at something below. Gallia leaned forward a bit, and her eyes widened at what the boy attacked.

An emaciated girl was clinging to a tangled group of roots desperately, watching the sword swing just above her head like a pendulum. While some tentacles thrashed at the boy, the rest were lashing at her, slicing easily through her clothes with their hairs in tiny holes that wouldn't be visible if it weren't for the aftermath.

Gallia saw tiny pinpricks of blood spring up where the hairs pulled out and attempted to latch onto her body, thrashing, trying to shake away the tentacles. A pair of them were grabbing her boots, their hairs slicing through her boots with seemingly no effort. Gallia saw blood staining her legs, and an intriguing mix of emotion on the girl's face. Polotsk's face.

Agony from the tentacles torturing her. The fatigue of not being able to hold on for long. Terror of the torture, of the swinging sword. An odd twinge of sadness, that made Gallia think of being lonely for some reason, then being hit by the assumption that Polotsk was sad that she was going to die, and that her friend wasn't there.

It made something in Gallia's chest swell with rage, a surge of explosive, protectiveness that had never appeared inside of her before. She was churning and seething, her hands trembling with anger, her feet rearranging themselves unconsciously, then springing forth.

She roared a battle cry, and was prepared to decapitate the boy if it meant saving her friend's life.

And if she was too late...

Gallia refused to let her friend die alone.

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Terran was taken aback by the sudden attack of the Capitol girl. He had been expecting for the girl to attack, but certainly not so much ferocity.

However, he had trained most of his life to volunteer for the Games, and he dodged each of her swipes easily. Whenever he swung at her though, she was either out of his reach, or deflecting them with her knife. They didn't seem to gain any progress with the fight after a while. But then, he felt a sharp pain in his side, and he realized that the Capitol girl had drawn blood. And though the wound wasn't serious, it would hinder his success.

After that first moment of blood being drawn, a spark seemed to ignite in the both of them. They were fighting harder, her slicing deeper into him a second time, and him slashing into her arm.

They were moving backwards, and all of a sudden, the Gamemakers seemed to want to interfere in their battle, and he was captivated with the sight of the earth splitting open, watching the girl nearly be claimed by the abyss the Gamemakers gave them, and saw a chance for him to win.

He reached down and attempted to slash the girl with his sword, when he realized that something was grabbing her ankles, beating her back, legs and arms. He realized that they were tentacles, perhaps ten of them, and they were beating his hands and reaching up to access his head and shoulders as he attempted to attack the girl.

It went on for a few minutes, the tentacles, the girl and Terran all working against each other, before he heard the bloodcurdling scream of an enraged girl.

He wheeled around, just in time, to see a gawky, dark-haired girl wielding an ax racing straight for him. The fury concentrated on her face chilled his bones, and it was all he could do to dash out of the way, to avoid her blade.

They begun dueling.

The girl slashed him, and deflected his move, holding his sword up with her ax, and, before he knew it, a powerful force connected with his groin and he doubled over, screaming.

But the pain made him stronger, more furious. And fury gave him strength. _The stupid little brat_, Terran thought, and abandoned all appearances of acting like it was a game after she swung her ax, almost connecting with his face, throwing himself into the battle, roaring like a wild beast.

Somehow, though, the girl kept getting away from him, and seemed to be forcing him to move with her. But he could see that her arms were shaking, and her eyes kept flickering to him and somewhere beyond him, back and forth. An obvious weakness was revealed to him.

Terran sidestepped suddenly, forcing her to move with him. Now his back was to the Capitol girl, and she had to deal with having to watch both of them.

Then, the little brat relaxed, and focused fully just beyond Terran.

He raised his sword, and smiled with triumph.

_I've won._

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Gallia met his blows, and lashed out at him as viciously as a great cat does to an injured animal. But her strength was failing her. She hadn't eaten or slept in a while, and he had it better than her.

She had to keep going though, for Polotsk.

Perhaps it was the lack of rest or nourishment, but she suddenly had this high, a sudden surge of energy and adrenaline that persuaded her further.

She slashed the fabric of the leg of his pants, and saw blood on her blade. Gallia couldn't stop now, and as his sword rose above his head, the boy's intention of bringing it down on her with a powerful force, she held her ax up to intercept it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her pulling herself upwards. The top of her head and her eyes were visible now, watching the fight with determination to join in. Gallia hesitated for a moment, watching her friend pull herself up more, only to be dragged back to her previous position.

She swelled with anger, and leaned back slightly on one foot, the other rising.

The boy saw the sudden moment, and let his eyes flick to her foot, not realizing what was happening until it was already in motion.

Gallia forced the foot in midair forward, connecting with his groin and making him double over in pain, gasping.

She danced away with a cocky smile, and prepared to strike. But the boy was back, and the pain and fury that probably was the result of her action seemed to act as a steroid. He swung his sword with more force, and more anger than she had seen before. He screamed at her, but not with words, but an animal-like battle cry.

She swung her ax at his face, making him fly backwards in alarm, and a sudden realization that she intended to kill him. Before, he seemed to act like this was a game. But now he seemed to realize that a skinny little thirteen-year-old girl was serious about ending his life.

Look who's catching on.

Gallia swung, again and again, forcing him to back up to avoid her blows. She tore the fabric of his shirt, grazed his chest, but nothing too serious yet. Her goal was to back him up against the pit that held Polotsk captive, to throw him in, in hopes of making the tentacles let her ally go and go after the boy instead.

But her arms were numb and shaky, and the boy seemed to realize that.

He made a sudden sidestep, that she wouldn't have predicted. Now, his back was to Polotsk, and she had to face him. The boy begun moving on the offensive, and Gallia held his sword away from her body with her ax, gripping both ends of the handle, the one nearest to the blade, and the one closest to the end of the handle itself. She had to keep him like this, grinding on an ax that doubled as a shield, long enough for Polotsk to get out.

She could see her ally out of the corner of her eye. Polotsk was dragging her torso out of the pit now, her fingernails gripping the brittle soil and pulling herself, an inch at a time, out of the pit, and out of the grasp of the tentacles. They were still firmly grasped to her ankles, and were caught in a tie with Polotsk's own will to live.

Seeing that Polotsk was nearly safe, Gallia relaxed her grip slightly, and let her gaze focus on her friend.

Too late, she realized her mistake.

She didn't see the boy suddenly relinquish his sword from her ax, didn't see him pull it back, didn't see it tear into her chest, into her ribs, and out the other side. Not until it was too late.

She slowly turned her down to where the weapon impaled her, and her eyes widened.

Her ax dropped from her hands, and hit the ground. Her arms hung limply at her side.

The boy let go of the handle of his sword, coated in sweat, and Gallia sank down onto her knees, her gaze still fixed on the sword, not realizing that she was in pain, that she was dying, that she was impaled. Her eyes stared emptily at the sword, trying to realize what just happened.

She slowly put her hands onto the blade of the sword, and pulled it out of her chest, her palms splitting open.

Gallia dropped the sword, and fell backwards onto the ground, a massive dark red flower blooming out under her into a pool on the dusty ground.

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Terran stood over the limp body of the girl, and stared, not doing anything. He watched as her chest heaved, as her eyes struggled to focus, as her head turned and the large green orbs fixated on him.

Now, they were just beyond him.

A small smile appeared on her face, and her eyelids covered her eyes.

What the... Terran's thoughts trailed off.

Then he felt the force of a hand on his shoulder, a set of fingernails digging into it. The excruciating pain of a sharp object digging into his body. No time to react, just to try to comprehend what had just happened to him.

His eyes blurred, and out of the corner of them, he saw the bloodstained tip of a black stone knife protruding from his neck.

It was removed from his body and he could see a fountain of crimson spray out from a massive hole.

The strong hand on his shoulder was removed, and he fell, face-first, onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a emaciated figure step over his body, and run over to the girl he killed.

She said something, he could tell, but his hearing didn't seem to work, it was like if he was underwater and couldn't make out what she said, just distant noises.

The thin girl held the fallen one tenderly, and picked her up. Then, they were out of his view, and he was left alone.

He was in extreme pain now, beyond description. And while the girl he killed was dying in the arms of her ally, whom she sacrificed her life for, where was his?

A deep, rotten feeling settled into his heart. A dark, heartbreaking realization that Arria didn't care about him, not the way he cared about her.

While the girl he had attempted to kill was mourning the death of the one he had succeeded to kill, Arria wouldn't show any expression. She'd just go on and destroy the final girl, win the Hunger Games, and go on to live a long, glamorous life in Panem, without him.

All Terran wanted now, was to die.

He prayed with all his broken, shallow heart, as the pain dulled to a subtle throbbing, as his mind clouded and his vision blurred even more.

He said he was sorry to the little girl he had killed. But she wasn't there to hear him.

A long time passed. He wasn't dead yet. But he wished he was. He wished he had never raised his hand and volunteered for the Hunger Games, never let his father persuade him to pursue becoming a Career. But he wasn't really good at anything. He wasn't handsome, smart, a ladies' man, and many other things he would have loved to have been. But he was good at physical things, and that was what got him here. He wasn't even good at dying soon. It had to be prolonged, full of suffering and reflecting on the should-haves, the might-have-beens and the failed wishes of his life.

Then, he detected movement in his failing gaze, and prayed that it was something, anything, that would end his life.

His vision showed him a blur of movement, but not what it was. Terran's cracked lips moved, and a shallow wheeze came out, that he contorted into a voice.

"I'm... sorry..." _About everything. How I failed, how many people I've killed, how I killed that little girl._

An echoing sound followed. He could only imagine what the movement was saying.

"P-please..." His voice trailed off, and he was too weak to continue, only to hope that the movement understood him.

A sharp sensation dug into his throat, and Terran's last sensation was the sound of a cannon, oddly clear through all the watery noise.

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I limped away from the body of the boy. My knife was once again in my belt, and I couldn't find the backpack. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Not my hunger or thirst, not my pain, not the icy cold of the wind that made the bruises and cuts on my bare arms sting, not the boy who was dying behind us from a wound I had inflicted out of rage at watching my closest friend get killed right in front of me. Nothing besides the dying girl in my arms, wrapped in the remains of my jacket.

I cradled Gallia's limp body close to me, ignorant of the weight she provided. I could feel the slight thump-thump of her heart beating, though it was uneven and awkward.

We had an ultimate goal to reach the bluffs, since the day we joined forces, and I was going to accomplish it, while I could still feel her heart beating.

I was numb now, to the wounds the tentacles had given me. I had endured worse, and I would again and again and again, until it was all over. _Not long now,_ a voice in my head whispered.

Perhaps an hour passed, of my hike through the steep, difficult terrain. The cracked, raw stubs of what were left of my fingernails, torn off when I was grabbing the dirt, trying to pull myself out of the pit, had stopped bleeding and scabbed over. We had passed through the woods and I didn't care about the food that may have been found there. Now, we were navigating a narrow way up to the top of the bluff I had selected. Not the easiest way, and certainly not the safest, but the fastest route to the top.

I stumbled up the path, holding Gallia closer to my body. Blood that was still leaking from the wound in her chest that failed to be absorbed by my jacket soaked my black shirt. The wetness of it was familiar, and the sensation didn't disturb me. Her arms and legs trailed limply along as I carried her. While I walked, I begun thinking.

What could have happened if she was able to survive? We could have climbed up this very path, together, and waited for Arria to hunt for us. Waited for her to look for us, because we weren't willing to go to her. But by the time she arrived, we would have learned the terrain, and prepared for this moment. And after she was killed, I suppose we would have just continued on, living in the arena until one or both of us was killed. Neither of us lacked the soul necessary to find it okay to kill someone you've grown so fond of. Only Arria had that ability, which is probably why she survived so long. No matter the outcome if she hadn't been fatally wounded, we both wouldn't have made it out of here alive. Either the arena or Arria would have killed us.

Gallia stirred in my arms as I was perhaps three-fourths the way up. I deflated as she drew in gasps for breath. They were ragged and tattered, painful to hear, and even more painful to feel her chest heave for the few breaths that would be left. I could see her large green eyes flicker beneath her eyelids, the cloudy haze of death beginning to fade over them. But the light of a living person's eyes were still there, though faded, and I knew that she was still there.

We were at the top now. I reached my arms above my head, and placed Gallia on the edge of a flat slab of dull gray rock. I moved a little ways from her body, and pulled myself up with some effort. My knife made a scratching sound as it was pulled against the hard stone. I crawled on my hands and knees over to Gallia, and pulled her back perhaps halfway across the slab into the middle of the large, rectangular piece of stone.

Everywhere else, I could see, was pointed and jagged except for a small spring that was welled up in between a few rocks a little ways away. I walked the short trip to it, and drank with my hands together in a makeshift cup. I didn't want to look at my reflection, so when I begun to focus on it unconsciously, I quickly jerked my head away and left the spring. Whatever was there, I just couldn't bear to see it. Maybe when it was all over, I would be able to look at myself.

I walked back over to Gallia and sat cross-legged beside her, watching her breath rise and fall as the sun sank in the sky. Her eyes flickered now and then, but not long enough for her to be considered to be awake. Then, when the sky was turning pinkish and the clouds became an inky purple, they opened fully and she coughed.

I sprang out of the half-sleep I had fallen into, and pulled her carefully into my lap. She seemed to acknowledge me with her eyes, now so close to being the eyes of a corpse that they were haunting to watch, and a smile that was more like a grimace stretched across her face.

"If I'm still alive after the sun sets," Gallia said with a croak that was twisted with pain, a ghost of her former voice. "Then I want you to kill me. Please, it's the last thing you can do for me if this goes on for too long."

I shook my head, my eyes clouding with tears that I desperately pushed back. I had to look calm for Gallia, and for the world. "No," I whispered. "I can't do that. Not for you. You're strong, you don't need to resort to that."

She shook her head, ever so slightly. "No. I'm not strong. I'm not brave either. I want you to kill me because I don't want to live hurting like this for long." Her eyes focused on a single purplish wisp above us.

"You _are_," I reassured her in as an intense tone as I could muster. "Why else would you have made it this far?"

"I don't know..." Gallia's voice trailed off, and she stayed silent for a few minutes, then suddenly, her hands twitched and reached out to mine, and grabbed them, holding on tightly. I was surprised, but I squeezed them back. I could see her misty, clouded eyes well up with tears, and her gasps became choked with sobs, like she was trying desperately not to cry, but she was failing. "It's okay." Gallia said suddenly, "You can cry. I don't mind. It shows me that you care."

I took in a deep, ragged breath. "I don't know if I can." Gallia was silent after that, for a while, staring at the sky.

Then, she spoke again. "I'm scared." she whispered in a choked voice, "What'll happen to me? They'll take my body and... and... send it off back to my District to my family. But I-I don't have one anymore. Where will I go?" Her grasp grew tighter, and her nails dug into my skin, acting as if she was afraid of letting go of mine.

"I don't know." I said solemnly, in a quiet tone, speaking the truth and nothing more. Gallia's eyes flickered more and she was silent for a long time.

"Take it," she suddenly rasped, surprising me. Her hand moved and the sleeve of her jacket fell back, revealing the ribbon I had tried so hard to dispose of. It moved, trembling, towards her neck, and grabbed at something out of view, then tugged it into my sight. It was a tarnished chain, like something that could have once been a necklace. She struggled to hold her head up and remove it, then forced it into my hand. Seeing my eyes widen, she said forcefully, "Take it. I'm not taking it back with me."

Then, she was silent again.

Now, the sun was so low in the sky that if you looked up, all you could see was inky black that faded into pinkish orange as you extended towards the horizon. It was a fiery, orange ball of light that was halfway gone now. There was something unnatural about the vibrancy of the colors that streaked the sky, they seemed to be too bright, as if it was created to add an extra dramatic effect. Gallia's misty green eyes suddenly were set on fire, and glowed in the light of the artificial, too-colorful sunset.

"Win for me," she finally whispered in an intense whisper that sounded like the hiss of a snake. "Show everyone in the world that you're not useless. That you're not just there for their entertainment, that you matter too. Win for me, and my brother, and all the tributes who died because of this. If you're not going to kill me, please just promise me that you'll win for me. Promise that you won't give up, and you'll win, not just for yourself, or me, but _everyone_. The kids we killed, the ones we watched die, even the girl who died before any of us had stepped off of our plates."

"I... I promise," I whispered. I had my doubts about winning, about going back to a life where no one really seemed to care, where I had to pretend every day, or to one of glamor and being a celebrity for killing children. But now, it was different. I was winning to make sure that no one would forget the tributes, that everyone would understand why they acted like they did, that their names would be remembered and their stories. I was winning for twenty-two kids who didn't make it this far.

"Good," Gallia croaked in the echo-y voice laced with pain. With each word, the volume of her voice dropped. "Because as long as we're remembered, we aren't... really dead. So, I'm not... going anywhere... Not now... not ever..." Her voice trailed off and vanished completely. The shadow of death that was covering her eyes masked them completely, and they rolled back into her head as her eyelids covered them. Her head dropped and hit the ground with a soft _thump_. Her hands, that once gripped mine so tightly out of fear of letting go, were now limp and only mine were holding them together.

In the far off distance, the explosion of a cannon was heard.

After a few minutes of deathly silence, I let them go.

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Nik didn't struggle.

She simply watched as the sun sank from view, as the moon rose over an inky sky. She walked numbly out onto the stage, flanked with peacekeepers, the resistance and fight drained out of her just after the rush of rage that consumed her was gone. She knew what would happen, but she didn't care. Not anymore.

Nik stood calmly in the harsh, exposing light provided for her. She could see the see of District 3 people, children as small as the age of three watching with their eyes wide, tiny hands tightly clasped around the calloused ones of their parents, who stared up at her with empty gazes, the eyes of people who's spirits had been broken long ago and only lived out of their fear of death.

She then let her eyes sweep over the crowd, seeing the same expression in every person...

The same indifference of people who didn't care if two girls grew up in their houses mostly alone, wondering if other girls felt like this and feeling the horrible gnawing pain of loneliness. The same indifference of people who would start a riot then watch it's instigator die and not cause any more trouble. The same indifference of people who would raise their children the same way, to giggle and whisper about the two outcasts who joined forces as children, to neglect their younger siblings and never come around to help them when they needed it, to giggle and laugh and bully the same outcasts who stayed away from the rest, severing any chance of establishing any friendships beyond the outcast society that was kept isolated in individual groups, so each kid who just didn't fit in would never find that acceptance. The same children were to grow up and share the indifference, and work mindlessly in factories, drink their hearts out, and offer their bodies to former victors and rich men as a chance to gain extra money. The same people who were better off dead.

Then, she looked up at her parents, the people who were never there for her, who looked at her in such a confused fashion. They didn't understand. They never would understand why she did this, why a seventeen-year old girl stood by the little twelve-year-old who no one liked.

Nik held their gaze with steely coldness, they didn't deserve to pity her. They didn't bother to have the time to know her.

Neither did Kiro's parents. She could see them, right there, her siblings not even bothering to show up to see the death of her best friend.

Even though they lived under strict guidelines and rules, she knew of District 3 kids just like her who came home from school to a family that stayed around and played games with them, worked alongside them in the assembly line, or simply knew that their parents cared.

Kiro and Nik were a different story.

Their parents never showed up, but they both knew that their fathers went down to the black market to get drunk on booze after work. Kiro's siblings were always out and about, and their mothers never told them where they were going, though Nik had always believed that they went to a certain old man's house, a victor of Games long before, who had a thing for women of all ages and would give them a little bit of money, enough to get food that was better than the average meal generic factory workers scraped up. Even though it had been three years since her suspicions were confirmed, she was always suspicious of the extra coins that bought her family a little more that came from her mother.

Nik knew this because that three years ago, when she was fourteen, she followed her mother on the rare day she was home, and found her there, with the woman and four girls, one as young as thirteen, she would learn to hate who should have played the role as Kiro's mother and sisters. They were all waiting outside, and entered at the same time, granted entry by a strange, greasy-looking old man with a creepy gleam in his eyes. He was strong and powerful, with muscles that disturbed her, clearly still Careering it up, to perhaps enhance his 'appeal', though it had long gone extinct. He smiled strangely, let them in, and a few hours later that night, they left with their clothes hurriedly put back on, and with coins they tucked in their pockets.

She had no doubt that, had the man seen her, he would have beckoned her inside as well, and neither of the elder women would have stopped him.

And for that reason, that distance from their youngest ( And in Nik's case, only) daughters, that lack of emotion in the two families' eyes, she didn't care. The only family she had, the one friend who came to mean everything to her, was dead. And Nik was, as well.

Nik turned away from the people, and focused on the screen just beyond the square, someone had forgotten to turn it off, and left the Hunger Games playing. Right now, she guessed they were recapping Kiro's death, and her picture stared back at Nik.

Even when the gun appeared, she stared down the barrel as the charges against her were read for the world to hear, as the cameras zoomed in, she looked up from the gun that would kill her. Nik was determined to make sure that her last sight wouldn't be the people who turned their backs on them, the families who didn't care, the thing that would kill her or the faces of television-watchers across Panem.

She stared at Kiro, the stationary image shifting to a moving one, a montage of her. Kiro with her shoulders hunched, wearing the electrical-current-like jumpsuit in the tribute parade, wearing a dress that seemed like it was made of pixels and saying very little in the interviews, her terrified gaze at the Cornucopia, and the fake smile that she had on whenever she found a tribute to spy on. How she imitated the 4 kids and evaded death so long. Her laughing at the birds, clinging to the net at night, feeding them a few nuts and winning herself some new friends in the process. Her scared look when she realized that she was about to die, her screaming as she was torn open, but never was she crying. Kiro never cried, no matter what the circumstance.

The image froze once more, of a small, sad eyed little girl.

Nik reached out to that pair of large gray eyes, and called out to it in her mind, as if the image of Kiro could hear her and respond.

_It's okay. I'm here. I know what's happening seems bad, but don't worry. It'll be over any second now, and I'll get to see you again. And we'll be together forever and no one will stare at us and whisper, and no one will ignore us or push us around or hate us because it'll be just us alone. Just hold on a little longer, okay? I'll be here soon._

Exactly one second later, she was.

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Silence echoed in the conference room, in that odd way that silence does.

You could have heard a pin drop, sliced through the tension and sadness in the air with a knife.

No one moved a muscle, no one made a sound. No one looked away, their eyes were trapped, looking at the television and were unable to look away, forced to witness the heart-wrenching scene in front of them. The deaths of two girls who shouldn't have died, right after each other.

Then, at some point, Switzerland was the first to break the freezing spell, and tore his eyes away from the screen, moving them down to check on Lichtenstein.

She was silent, staring up at the screen with eyes that grew larger and larger, rimmed with red and crystalline from tears that bubbled up and slid quietly down her cheeks. She was trembling, her lower jaw vibrating and her nose sniffling, but she didn't make a sound.

He felt a wave of guilt then, for letting her watch something so graphic, but he'd been so transfixed with it that he didn't think to check on her.

Slowly, Switzerland wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled the crying nation close to him, her arms wrapping around him and simply never letting go.

Then, he slowly let his other arm rise to his head, and remove his beret, resting it on his chest, over his heart.

Gradually, others followed suit.

Sweden, Finland, Norway, Denmark, Turkey, and practically everyone in attendance who possessed a hat. Even the excluded Romania, who had been watching through the keyhole in the still-miraculously-soundproof doors and now had an eyeful, but not an earful, of what the nations were up to. They didn't see him, but he saw them, and what was happening on the massive plasma screen.

America begun quietly whistling some sort of song that had a somber feel to it, and it faded away after about a minute, for once, everyone listening without argument.

Then, silence returned to the room as they watched a vigil take place.

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Arria looked up from her work assembling the intricate device, interrupted by a single cannon. She sat expectantly, awaiting the next cannon.

It didn't come until just after nightfall, when the sun was gone, and the moon was low.

That was when Arria nodded knowingly as Terran's, then Kiro's and finally the annoyance's faces flashed in the sky.

She had never expected for him to return from this, it was a fact that they would be too much for him together. But if they were seperated, then he had a chance of taking one down, but being weakened, thus allowing the survivor to kill him.

Arria smiled grimly.

_ It was always meant to be just us,_ she thought to the survivor. _The two strongest competitors. _

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I let the tears come. They weren't like the ones you'd see in movies, where the makeup of the actresses never smears, where their faces don't crinkle and turn bright reddish-pink, their eyes never turn crimson and squint, they don't always have their chests heaving from their sorrow, the tears staining their cheeks and rolling off of their noses and chins, their inhales nasally and rasping. Mine, however, did, and because of the lack of artificial beauty that was still present, setting off the wrong mood, I knew that they were real, and that I hadn't just been deluding myself into acting. I _did_ care.

They gray light of twilight descended on the arena, and I let my eyes adjust to the low light. The sky above was speckled with stars that glowed brightly, but my gaze wasn't up, but down, at the dead girl who I cared about more than anything else in the world. She was so still and peaceful, she looked like she was sleeping and would wake up at any moment. Gallia was still wrapped in my jacket, and I didn't want to take it away fro her. Part of me wanted to go off and die myself, but the dominant part silenced such an idea. I had made a promise, and I never broke one.

I stopped crying after perhaps a minute, wiping tears off of my face onto my bare arms, which were trembling in the cold of the twilight. I stared at the chain she had left in my hands. It was very dirty, probably worthless, but I rubbed the small metal links carefully with my thumb. Then, I silently pulled it over my neck, and let it sit.

Then, I realized that only one cannon had gone off. The boy was still alive.

I calmly stood up, and walked over to the edge of the bluff, where I eased myself down to the path. I turned back to look at the limp body of my companion. "Don't go anywhere," I told her as I skidded down the path and sprinted through the woods, the aching from the tentacles that had tormented me vanishing.

Eventually, I came upon the clearing, and the bloodstained grass. I slowed to a walk, and stared warily at where the ground had opened and swallowed me. Oddly, the pit wasn't there anymore, but my guard was still up. I skirted around the edge of the clearing, keeping my distance from where the pit once was, and came upon the barely-alive body of the boy who killed my closest friend.

I stared down at him. His neck was torn open, and a large pool of dark red blood beneath him, indicating to me that he had bled out not long ago. A thin trickle of blood still persistently left his body.

"I-I'm sorry..." the boy seemed to attempt to apologize.

I didn't want to hear it. He had killed the person closest to me, and I wasn't exactly the forgive-and-forget type. Maybe he thought that I was the kind of person who would buy into the Oh-please-won't-you-forgive-me crap. That I'd take pity on him and let him live, or even help him heal. I decided to let him know that. My tone acidic with disgust, I spoke: "Do you really think I'm that stupid? That I'll buy into your ever-so-dramatic sob story and not kill you? That I'm going to be all high and mighty and swoop in to save the day?" My voice was quivering and died off. I stared at him and drew my knife.

"P-please..." his voice trailed off. He seemed to want to want himself dead as much as I did.

I lunged forward, sinking my knife into his neck once more, hearing a cannon fire. I turned, and left, muttering to myself: "Well, I'm not a hero."

That night, I lay on the rock where Gallia had died. Her body wasn't collected yet, for some reason, and I was perhaps a foot away, looking up at the sky. I heard an annoying song blare through the arena, and the number 1 flash, then the face of the boy I had killed. The number 3, and a small, nervous looking girl. 12. Gallia.

Only two of us were left. Tomorrow, one of us would be dead.

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I blinked at the rosy pink light above my head, that faded into inky navy further on, speckled with tiny silver pinpricks that I knew were stars. It was such a pretty sky, no matter how fake and cheesy it was, and I wanted to wake Gallia and show her-

Oh yeah...

It seemed like all the air deflated from my chest.

The place where she was left beside me on the flat slab of rock was vacant. Her body must have been collected.

I touched the empty place where she once lay. A dark stain from the blood that rubbed up against the stone was still there. And so was my jacket. I shrugged it on, trying to ignore the fact that a dead girl was wrapped in it not long before.

I stood up, and walked over to the small spring in the rocks, drinking from my hands. Then, I used a damp hand and rubbed the side of my cheek, seeing a caked layer of dirt, blood and grime wipe away revealing four stripes of pale skin underneath that I saw in my reflection. I shook my head suddenly and turned away, refusing to see anything more than the few seconds when my eyes fell on my reflection.

I walked along the edge of the cliff, and collided with something invisible that shocked me, sending me flying backwards onto my back on the slab of rock. I stared at the place in front of me, gasping for breath, and grabbed for a pebble not far away. I threw it and it ricocheted off of some invisible barrier, flying back just over my shoulder.

I stood up and backed away. Then I looked out over the arena, and realized something. The scenery was _changing_. The desert where one girl had died was gone, as was the grassland. The forest was rearranging itself around the Cornucopia, the lake vanishing and flattening out. The trees were getting bigger and turning black, thorny spikes jutting out from their large branches. The grass withered and vanished before my eyes. The Cornucopia, a distant golden shimmer in the middle of the Arena, was actually sinking into the ground, which was the color of charcoal and had the feeling of a hardwood floor.

Suddenly, I felt an electric prickle just behind me, and I was flying down the side of the cliff, my arms digging into the now-black sides for support. I landed on my rump on the ground, and heard a crunching sound behind me as the bluffs and cliffs melted into the ground and also turned black. I could see the force field now, for some reason, it was turning dark gray and blotting out the sky, but it radiated some sort of light that disturbed me slightly. I could see it moving forward relatively quickly, blotting out the ground.

I leaped to my feet and backed away, my hand touching the handle of my knife. Suddenly, it was obvious to me, as I was backed into the changing scenery that formed into a tight, narrow pathway, the spikes and tightness of the branches combining making my only way away from the ominous wall that came closer and closer being forward.

I started running, the tarnished chain pulling on my neck slightly. There was an inescapable sense of dread that was creeping into my mind, a premonition that something bad was coming. I stopped dead in my tracks, when I realized that the force field had stopped, and I was just at the beginning of a large clearing. I recognized it: It was eerily similar to the Cornucopia, being circular, with perhaps twenty five or so mounds that were a few feet above the ground, each at an equal distance from one another. The place I just emerged from had a mound right in front of me, and as I took another step forward, I felt something powerful and hard push me out further, like a pair of giant hands. I turned around, knife drawn, and saw that the way I had come sealed up behind me. There was only one other exit, behind a mound right next to mine, and I moved towards it.

Suddenly, a spike broke out of the ground beneath my foot, and I sprang backwards in alarm. Another sprung up right where I landed, and before I knew it, I was being pushed by waves of sharp, pointed earth onto the mound that I had turned my back on. No spikes waited for me on it, but when I moved my foot over the ground that was lower, a group of spikes wound spring out of the ground to deter me. I was stuck on a few feet of rock for who knew how long.

Then, I saw a flash of movement as a tall, graceful girl sprinted down the exit where I would have loved to have been headed. She was carrying nothing in her hands, and leaped onto a mound effortlessly. I recognized the girl: Arria, the girl who had sacrificed her ally for no apparent reason, and had probably done the same with the boy I had killed yesterday.

She met my gaze with brown eyes that seemed to have an unnatural amber glow to them, like she went through surgery to get it. Arria grinned eerily with too-white teeth, and stood calmly on the mound next to mine. "Good to see you," she said in a voice dripping with venomous honey. "I was wondering where you went."

"Pity." I replied in the icy tone I had mastered over a long amount of time. "Wish I could say the same about you."

She grinned even more, and narrowed her eyes. I pulled a deadpan over my face. "I wonder," she said in a voice that was obviously withholding something. "What they've brought us here for."

"Isn't it obvious? Or are you too stupid to realize that we're the last two alive?"

I couldn't quite believe what I was doing. I was actually having a somewhat casual conversation with someone that I was about to attempt to murder. Ah, life.

Her eyebrows raised, and Arria's eyes widened ever so slightly. Then she composed herself. "I'm quite aware. I'm referring to how outlandish they're being." She waved her dismissively at all the rearranging the arena has done, just for us. They really know how to make a sacrifice feel special.

Then, before I could counter her remark, all hell quite literally broke loose.

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The pair of eyes flickered, then sprang open. It was underground, in a dark place, yet it could see perfectly.

It ran forward, with the pack, seeing their luminous eyes glow in the pitch black. Browns and blues, coppers and grays, and a single pair of green eyes identical to it's own.

But that didn't matter. As the pack split up, going to the designated part that called to it, so did it. They were to wait, until it was right.

_Now_, something whispered in it's head. The creature responded, obeyed the dominating urge, and broke through the earth, into a deep gray light. It was ready to fulfill it's purpose.

It was ready to kill.


End file.
